The Floating World
by SkyeMoor
Summary: Draco Malfoy is in love... Whether he wants to be or not. He's pretty sure being in love isn't supposed to hurt this much
1. Chapter 1

Blaise Zambini sat down at breakfast, looking forward to the Hogwarts meals. It was the first meal of the year, after all. And even if a proper English Breakfast wasn't his cuppa (he preferred the far lighter Italian bread-and-cheese), Hogwarts' elves were really talented.

As usual, he sat down beside Draco Malfoy. At that instant, he noticed something was wrong. Make that seriously wrong. Draco was staring at the Gryffindor table - not so unusual as all that, really. He had certainly glared at Potter enough in years past. No, this was a different stare, the look of a dying man who sees water just across the brink. The hungry gaze of a zombie, or maybe a vampire, the gaze that would devour whatever it rested upon. In short, Draco Malfoy looked the spitting image of a man in love.

Now, the only question was whom?

Blaise leaned over, not wanting his conversation overheard. Slytherin secrets were made to be kept, after all, unless it was to your enduring advantage to reveal them. "Is it the Weaselette?" he asked quietly, "finally found one of that family you like?"

Draco turned a baleful glare on Blaise. It wasn't a "you're right" glare, nor even a "oh, god no!" glare... it was an icy, abyssal glare that said "leave well enough alone, or you'll regret it."

And, in a flash, Blaise _knew_. He knew exactly why Malfoy wouldn't, couldn't say a word. _The Mudblood._

Blaise fought to keep the wild laughter inside, as he drawled insolently, "You know, most lads would just ask the lady out, instead of staring until your eyeballs fall out." Then again, she's no lady _is_ she -not to mention that Draco's been haranguing her for _years_ now.

Draco sent Blaise a glare that promised a full legion of various tortures, and Blaise knew Draco had the dungeon to back that up.

Oh, but this was hilarious! The Slytherin Sex God (trademarked) had fallen in love, and with the most inappropriate _thing_! Not that Blaise really cared a whit about blood and all that rot and rubbish. No, Blaise simply saw a weakness and a vulnerability. And Draco knew Blaise knew, and that could turn out either very well, or very bad.

First year, Draco had been rather flattered to be invited to a 6th year Ravenclaw's dorm room. Apparently she had heard that boys lasted longer before they reached... a certain level of maturity. Draco must have done well, because soon, all the Ravenclaws wanted to satisfy their curiosity. And once the Slytherin girls saw him exiting the Ravenclaw dorm, they wanted him too - though Blaise and Draco both well knew that they were more interested in staking a claim. Draco hadn't spent much time with any of the girls, and if one or two of them wound up with a bit of a full tummy, well, the girls were the ones who would get in trouble if they squealed

Second year, Draco had his run through most of the Hufflepuff dorm - all of them seemed to fancy a try at the "poor little misunderstood rich boy." And a few Gryffindors, as well, mostly blasted out of their mind on something the Weasley twins had cooked up, and that _everyone_ ought to have not drunk.

Blaise chuckled quietly at the irony of the boy who could sleep with anyone, having his heart set on the one girl he couldn't touch. And then Blaise did an odd and strange thing. He trod, hard, on Draco's foot, under the table.

Draco glared at Blaise, and said, "What the hell was that for?"

"Stop staring, you're giving us Slytherins a bad name... What ever happened to being subtle?"

Draco responded with a lovelorn sigh.

"Never fear, I have the solution to your problems. You can stop pining - Ahh, there's Nott" Blaise said, keeping a promise not to involve the strictest of the boys in secrets unless absolutely necessary.

"Meet me at the top of the Astronomy Tower, by 7pm"

"We'll watch the sunset together!" Draco said, clapping his hands together in his best Pansy impression. Nott was looking at them oddly, so Blaise sent him a smug grin.

* * *

At the Astronomy Tower, Draco appeared, looking more than a bit out of sorts. Oh, not so crass as to look dissolute, but certainly not quite gliding with his customary grace, his impatience giving him a stride more like Snape's. Of course Blaise noticed.

"What is it?" Draco bit out.

"Here" Blaise said, passing him paper and a quill, "write her whatever you want... just keep it anonymous."

"But... what do people generally write on stuff like this?"

"Try a love letter..."

And Draco Malfoy curled up near a pillar, to write.

* * *

Granger was eating the next morning, when the owls arrived. Surprisingly, there was a school owl for her. Something about it told her to keep the letter a secret, at least until she was back up in her room. Was it the lack of seal? Was it the superordinariness of the owl? She didn't know, and it bothered her. Nevertheless, she knew much better than to open strange pieces of mail with Harry and Ron about, they were prone to reading it.

* * *

Padma, Parvati and Lavender were in her dorm when she came in. "Hermione, what did you get from that owl?" Lavender asked.

Granger responded, "haven't looked yet."

Parvati said with a hungry smile, "let us see, if it's any good that is." And Hermione knew exactly what she meant by "good."

Hermione opened the letter, and skimmed it quickly. "You're going to want to hear this, girls." she said softly, knowing that unlike the boys, they'd hang on her every word.

 _You sparkle like the stars_

 _Illuminating a room as you stride in_

 _Cutting shadows crisp as night_

 _All I can do is stare-_

 _Through a glass darkly_

 _Your smiles toast the room_

 _even touching the abyssal depths_

 _of my flinty heart._

 _Your days unfold like pages in a book_

 _As I, your humble scribe,_

 _Record your laughter and your tears,_

 _your grimaces and fleers_

 _I oft wonder, in the warmth of my bed,_

 _if, at the last, you'd see me the way I see you_

 _Alas, I have not the courage nor the cruelty to find out._

Lavender laughed, saying, "He knows you too well! Compared to a boo in your first love letter!"

Padma looked up, looking troubled, "That almost sounds like a death threat"

At that, Hermione paled.


	2. Potions, the subtle art

Still thinking about the strange love? letter she had received the day before, Hermione Granger strode into Potions class, stopping as she stepped inside the door. It was the first day, and she wanted to get a good partner. Ron and Harry had already commandeered a desk near the middle of the class (not too near any of the edges, Prof. Snape liked to pace.) In fact, all the Gryffindors were paired together, except for Neville Longbottom. And Hermione swore that she wouldn't fail Potions simply for not letting Neville touch anything. "Pick your partner, Miss Granger. You'll be together for the rest of the semester." Prof. Snape smirked, his eyes sparkling with an unholy delight at her misfortune. The only other choice was Draco Malfoy, himself enough of a bastard to give even a determined-to-succeed-at-all-costs girl like Hermione a bit of a pause. _What if he tried to hurt her grade?_ It was enough to get Granger looking at Longbottom again. Then reason reasserted itself. _No, he wouldn't dare. Even if he's only beating me because Snape plays favorites. He'd lose points too, and that would look simply horrid to daddy dearest._ With a crisp firm nod of thanks at Professor Snape, Hermione strode over to the desk with Draco Malfoy beside it.

Draco Malfoy, meanwhile, was not paying much attention to the class, mainly because it hadn't started yet. He was flipping through his own book on the uses of boomslang skin... until he saw freckles on a hand in his peripheral vision. _That's... not Pansy. What happened to Pansy?_ Draco Malfoy looked up. _Hermione Granger_ was sitting at his desk. _Shite_ , he needed a plan. And fast. If only his brain would stop trying to freeze in its tracks... _Please don't faint._

"Malfoy." Granger said crisply, aware as he looked up that his already nearly colorless face had gone whiter - and she hadn't known that was even possible.

"Mm-Granger." Malfoy said, knowing the instant he said it, that it would be taken _completely_ wrong. _Wait, was that a **good** thing? _ Frowning to himself, he gently closed his book, pulling out the actual potions book (and trying not to steal glances at Granger's surprisingly nimble fingers). _Yeah, probably better if she thinks I almost called her mudblood - instead of Miss._ _Probably better if I see exactly how quickly I can get her to complete outrage._ Malfoy looked at Granger, taking in that slight lifting of her chin, the glint in her eyes. "Finally decided to admit defeat and get a few lessons from your betters?"

"As if you'd know the difference between boomslang skin and okapi skin in a health potion, anyway!" Granger shot back.

 _What the hell was an okapi?_ Malfoy thought, rummaging through his head. Right, something muggle and boring - at least it had stripes. "Muggle ingredients don't belong in healing potions, at least if you mean to use them on the magically inclined."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Such an elementary mistake! Are you sure you're getting the highest grade in the class? Everyone knows that rue is muggle, and you use it for depression and for anxiety."

"Those are _mental_ health potions, totally different. Minds aren't inherently magical, bodies are." Malfoy shot back.

"Would I poison someone if I put rue into a healing potion?"

"Only if you diluted the asphodel concentration."

"So I could improve the taste, without destroying the benefits."

"Point to you, mudblood." Malfoy affected an air of bored unconcern, despite their conversation rapidly ranging across the discipline, and their lively argument continued throughout class.

This was the first day in a while that Professor Snape hadn't patrolled the class, his head bent over papers that he wasn't really reading, his hand twitching under his desk at every mention of the word mudblood. Professor Snape's control was perfect when absolutely necessary. But he hadn't time to prepare, and this was not standing before the Dark Lord. He was used to his classroom being his own, and his urge to hex his godson was abrupt and fleeting. And very troublesome.

Only Blaise noticed that Crabbe and Goyle had completely stopped making their potion, and instead were taking notes... (as they left, they muttered about how Malfoy was easier to understand than their Head of House).

Pansy had taken over the entire potion brewing process (Neville being a lost cause) - but at least Neville's cutting wasn't a complete abomination. And Neville was trying to memorize everything that Hermione was talking about.

Draco Malfoy left potions class in a good mood. The same could not be said for Hermione Granger, who knew a challenge when she saw one, and felt that a gauntlet had been thrown down.

[a/n: read and review, please! Also, let me know if you want more arguing! I could do an entire class worth of dialogue if you want...]


	3. Lovestruck!

_Love sank its fangs into me, just a few days ago._

 _I should have listened to the rattle, gambled and fled._

 _It burns inside me, as my blood turns to lead,_

 _and my body feels so cold..._

 _I look at you, and suddenly everything fades away._

 _Don't watch me, don't notice me._

 _You're everything to me - and nothing too._

 _Only fools say love is pleasant or kind -_

 _Love is the cruelest thing that any man can know._

 _As Lethe tugs my eyelids down to sleep,_

 _all I see is your eyes burning bright._

 _All day you're in the corner of my eye,_

 _and now you're stalking me at night!_

Hermione almost swore, as she saw the non-descript (was that deliberate?) owl bearing towards her. It was the second in _two days_ \- did whoever-it-was expect the boys to not notice? Or did he simply not care? Was this one going to be as horrific as the last one? With such thoughts running through her head, Hermione Granger shot off to her room after dinner like a flash. After she had left, the boys looked around, and shrugging said, "Must have some extra work."

"Maybe it's from Snape?"

Neville looked over at them, and in a grande Hermione impression said, "That's Professor Snape. Show some respect." The boys roared in laughter. Draco stifled a smile so deep that not a muscle moved on his face. Blaise kept his eyes open, and his mouth shut, as was his wont.

Up in her room, Hermione looked at the letter, the Parvati twins looking over her shoulders, one to each. "At least it's not a death threat, this time," Padma said softly. "At least not one towards me" Hermione said acidly, her sarcasm making Padma smirk. Parvati squealed (as usual) and said, "oooh! it's so romantic! He sounds like such the little mooncalf! All lovestruck and heartsick - Hermione, you'd better find him and kiss it alllll better!" Both the other girls rolled their eyes at the notoriously fanciful Patil twin. And then Lavender entered the room, and all intelligent conversation stopped, as Parvati and her best friend's delight and feverish imaginations took up all the audible space in the dormroom.

[a/n: sorry it's a bit shorter than usual, I intend to alternate back between public and private faces.

Read and Review, and I'll write quicker!

Anyone got the reference in the title of the story?

As for me, I love using a rattlesnake bite as a metaphor for love - particularly the coagulant properties of the venom! Yes, I'm a geek, and a bit morbid too. Kinda proud of it, actually!]


	4. Another poem

_Chocolate and chili pepper, that's what I taste_

 _Every time I think of you._

 _You're sensuous and fiery,_

 _Endlessly free, and so lively._

 _You could carve me in stone,_

 _make me a statue in truth -_

 _just leave my eyes looking at you._

 _One cannot sculpt the wind,_

 _nor paint with a lit match._

 _But I'd try for you..._

Draco Malfoy smiled, a particularly cold and hateful expression on his face, as he lay on his bed, toying idly with the letter. He already knew he'd send it, he was just waiting for Crabbe and Goyle to head to the Great Hall. They cared more about food than they did about him, anyway.

Hermione Granger sat in the library, studying Charms. Someone cleared their throat, and Hermione looked up... " _Lavender_?" she asked, her surprise showing clearly in her expression.

"Do you think you'll get another letter today?" Lavender said, her expression hopeful and scheming at once.

"No, I doubt it. Probably got bored with it - or is laughing somewhere." Hermione said, her voice one of experience. She had been teased endlessly at school about her looks, she was not about to get hopeful about some coward who couldn't even say a word to her.

"Oh." Lavender said, looking twice sad (Her first sadness was obvious - she had wanted to hope, and was sad to have lost a confederate. But the second...). Her eyes looking deeply into Hermione's, and looking a little less like a gossip than she normally did.

[Okay, horrible author will combine two poems (or more) each per chapter, or one Potions lesson.

Read and review, lovelies, or I'll get distracted and start Another Story!]


	5. Snape has a Word

Snape was not looking forward to this class, he was rather horrified to realize, and promptly tried to suppress the emotion entirely. He liked this class, it had Malfoy and Granger, who were crisp enough to get everything right the first time - it had Potter, who was always good for a rise, and Longbottom, who kept everyone on their toes. Certainly, he was often irate and irascible, but the schoolchildren never could distinguish between his natural choleric disposition and actual spite, so what of it? Another feeling slowly blossomed in his chest - _I really don't want to know why I don't want this class to start._

Taking a deep breath, he swept into one of the supply closets, and purposely moved half the ingredients from one place to another, leaving it just as neatly ordered as when he started. In so doing, he missed Goyle and Crabbe bounding into class, like two Saint Bernards - overeager and playful. _Last class had been fun! They were learning something!_ Longbottom slid into his seat next, with Parkinson raising her pert nose to the sky in order to avoid looking at him. Potter and Weasel waltzed in, as if the entire room belonged to them, as if they filled the entire attention of everyone in the class. The rest entered silently, the quiet of potions taking over even the more reckless Gryffindors. There were then two seats open: Malfoy's and Granger's. Everyone heard them meet directly outside the classroom.

"Back for more, are you?"

"If you mean that I'm willing to grace you with more scholastic learning than you've managed from the library, of course."

"As if you know _anything_ that isn't in the library!" Granger snapped back. Goyle and Crabbe exchanged a glance. _Malfoy was picking a fight with the library, now?_

They were still doing the same potion as last class, and so Granger and Malfoy started from healing potions. Of course, Malfoy had to bring up emu quills, and then they were discussing if avian influenza would actually poison a potion - and if that would be a desirable side-effect on purebloods lacking exposure to muggle diseases. And that was just the first ten minutes of class. By the end, they had progressed to discussing the various methods of counteracting and detecting Disguise potions, and suddenly Malfoy spat, "Leave it to a _Mudblood_ to put cathair in a polyjuice potion! It was a polyjuice potion, wasn't it?" Malfoy ended his sentence with an arrogant smirk.

Potions Master Severus Snape uncurled himself from his desk, where he had sat, tight as a coiled spring, his back bowed as he worked (or pretended to) on grading papers for the entire class. (It would latter prove to be the only class in which Neville Longbottom actually made a perfect potion). "Time's up, class. Turn in your potions." He laced his fingers behind his back, as each pair of students came up. "ineffectual" "poor, but adequate." "Parkinson, did you make this all by yourself?"

And then it was time for Goyle and Crabbe, who walked up unapologetically, and said, "We didn't do the potion, Professor."

"And why not?" Snape spoke, his voice as cruelly tempered as a cat with nine lashing tails.

"We were taking notes. Draco and ... Granger were discussing important -" Snape cut them off, impatiently, striding down the aisle towards his ... wayward? students.

"Malfoy, Granger, what do you have to say for yourselves?" Snape loomed over them, not giving them the opportunity to get out from the row of desks.

Mutely, Malfoy handed over his perfect potion, much more confidently than Longbottom had.

"Since you obviously can't refrain from distracting fellow pupils, you may complete your potions in detention from now on. You are excused from class." Granger and Malfoy had striven to look obedient as he said this... Snape smirked evily, "As for punishment," Ahh, there's the delicious stiffening, the expected outrage on Malfoy, who's never been punished in front of Gryffindors before. And Granger, who looks as if she's never caught a detention for _anything_. "You'll have additional detentions teaching Longbottom and Goyle and Crabbe. Who are also excused from my class."

Indignant, Pansy looked as if she had been whipped, "But sir!"

"Young lady, you can consider this your punishment for doing Longbottom's work for him!" Snape strode back to the front of the room, and sat back down, mutely unseeing the students leaving, lost as he was in tarnished memories.

[a/n: Read and Review! Up next: Zambini appears!]


	6. Mischief and Machinations

Severus Snape had no need for office hours. All his Slytherins knew his door was always open, and none other would be so foolish as to attempt a conversation with the choleric professor. As such, he looked up from his grading at the knock on his classroom door. "Enter" he said commandingly.

Obliging, and yet composed, Blaise Zambini stepped through the door, closing it firmly behind him. Snape straightened in his chair. This wasn't some first year homesickness, and Blaise knew better than to complain about his grades. Snape let the moment drag out, before saying, "Yes?"

"I couldn't tell whether they were going to kiss or kill each other in class today, sir. Could you?" Zambini asked pointedly.

"Who?" Snape said, his bafflement well hidden behind years of granite silence.

"Why, Granger and Malfoy, sir." Zambini fought to keep the smirk off his face (mostly succeeding, but his head of house caught the detrius). Snape's head spun, three different plans launching themselves even as he suddenly found he had the answer to why he hadn't hexed (or spoken) to Malfoy in the past few days about his behavior in class. Except for his use of that _loathsome_ term, Malfoy had reminded Snape of _himself_.

"That does pose a bit of a political dilemma, does it not?" If Malfoy had lost so much control of himself that Zambini was noticing... how long before the Gryffindors caught on. Scratch that, how long until Lucious Malfoy's ears caught wind of it?

"Indeed, sir."

"What are your thoughts on the matter? Surely you wouldn't have come to me without a plan?" Snape's low voice nearly purred, his interest sparkling in his jet eyes.

"Oh, Drakey-poo! You've simply _got_ to get me that dress!" Zambini said, in flawless imitation of his classmate.

Snape rather approved of the circumlocution, and the plan was solid, if straightforward. "A reasonable idea. I'll see what comes of it." _Slytherins would protect their own._ Snape thought firmly, _even from themselves, should the circumstances warrant._

* * *

 _I will not name you pretty-_

 _as well compare a lady's slipper_

 _rising out of swampy mirk and mire_

 _to a bed of daisies by the road,_

 _each and each alike._

 _I will not name you a beauty -_

 _as well compare a fire orchid_

 _blooming in the crook of a mahogan tree_

 _to my mother's pampered roses_

 _pushed and shaped and pruned_

 _Not a hint of artifice surrounds you_

 _Nay, you are the reckless wild,_

 _the plunging cataphract descending_

 _in utter joyous abandon into the dim abyss._

 _Not for you kohl-lined eyes nor painted cheeks_

 _Yours is a sinuous grace and yours a feline majesty,_

 _careless of any that would deny it,_

 _imbued in your heart where hoary age cannot break it._

A letter sent with an icy smile, on a deliberately spotted school owl.

Received with a glare, and a snatch, a cat's cunning surfacing, as Granger deftly slid it into a thick tome.

[a/n: Plots and machinations! It's the Slytherin way. Do you think Zambini's right? Is Snape?

Oh, and before I forget - Read and Review, or I'll wander off and go finish a _different_ story.]


	7. Morning Star

[a/n: I hate wikipedia. For the purposes of my writing, it's wrong about what a Morning Star looks like. Ball, chain, stick,mmmkay?]

Draco Malfoy lay on his bed, his writing surface floating, balanced above him, as he stared at it, biting his quill. At last, he began to write.

 _When I cast sleep's sand out of my eyes,_

 _As the false dawn fades,_

 _My eyes look past the fading moon,_

 _and I think of your fierce grin,_

 _My morning star._

 _When the world's dipped in despair,_

 _When I'm curled tight in a pit of misery,_

 _When even the moor is cast in shadow,_

 _My eyes lift skyward, and I see you glinting there_

 _My Evening Star._

 _A Morning star is a fierce and terrible thing,_

 _As lief to hurt the wielder as the enemy._

 _This I know, for this I've seen -_

Malfoy smirked, pausing a moment, thinking, _that's as subtle a way as I've got to refer to Potter and Weasel. And I've seen her round on them, with more than sparks in her eyes. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but I'm pretty certain everyone knows a shecat in righteous fury - and, more importantly, when to run far far away._

 _Your eyes sparking with banked fire_

 _I sometimes wonder, what you'd look like_

 _If I could sometime see your fire blaze_

 _for me._

 _A fool's thought, is it not?_

Draco Malfoy sent the note off with nary a thought, his face its usual mask, hiding the soft smile that lit a dim corner of his heart.

Hermione Granger grabbed the note at dinner, stuffing it quickly in her book. _Five days?_ She thought incredulously, _Isn't that a bit much for a jape?_

It seemed moments later when Hermione was in her dorm room, and Lavender was whining to read the note, her shrill voice grating on Hermione's last nerve. Hermione passed it over, and in short order Padma and Parvati were reading it as well. Padma padded over to Hermione, throwing herself on Hermione's bed, and saying with a smile, "It's gotta be a Ravenclaw."

"How do you figure?"

"Only a Ravenclaw would make a pun on the Morning Star!"

Hermione laughed at the indignation in Padma's voice. "What, you think we Gryffindor's are incapable of a sense of humor?" her tone was of mock offense.

"Fred and George couldn't do a pun if their life depended on it!"

Hermione laughed.

Padma looked suddenly serious, "If these notes are from Michael Connor, I will hate you for it."

"But I've done nothing to get these notes!"

Padma cracked a smile, her eyes still serious, "All the more reason to hate you."

"But that doesn't make any sense at all!"

"Oh, I agree, and I'll know I'm being silly. But I'll still hate you... and be your friend." Padma gave a warm and genuine smile, and the two of them were hugging quite suddenly. Hermione was distantly aware of the other two girls nattering on about how "romantic" the notes were, shaking her head slightly.

Padma pulled back, and asked with a frown, "Why, what's wrong?"

With a trace of a pout, Hermione said crossly, "Your sister and her best friend keep on thinking this is romantic... and that's the thing, it's _not!_ It's not someone who's dreaming about someone who ... isn't me!"

"Let them have their dreams and their fun," Padma said, "It's better that than them harassing me to do something about Michael."

Hermione looked at Padma, who responded to the silent question, "I'm not brave like you Gryffindors, alright?"

Hermione smiled, and it _was_ alright.

[a/n: because I really don't feel like writing 126 poems, they'll only be coming out on weekdays. Hope you enjoyed this one, it was the very devil to write.

Please, read and review.

Who's enjoying the friendship with Padma? Who hates it? Please, review and let me know.]


	8. Professors ought to vanish on Weekends

It was Friday night, and Severus Snape was seeing how fast he could get drunk. This stupid letter refused to write itself, and some liquid...courage? No, that wasn't right. Liquid _creativity_... the clear liquid searing and warming and inducing all sorts of mad visions*. But none of these mad ideas seemed to fit.

With a sigh, as he rested his head, on his arm, on his wide wooden desk, he thought _"The only thing worse than being a babysitter is being a chaperone._ "

Sobering slightly, he thought vehemently, _I won't do it!_

* * *

The morning dawned cruel and cold, the sunlight flickering dangerously off frigid air. Severus Snape woke with a dragon-sized headache, prowling his mind and promising fire if he so dared as to move. Merlin! What had he done? Slowly, his thoughts assembled themselves. He had started to write a letter... _Potter!_ His thoughts went red, for a moment, in fulminating rage. Inside him, his conscience thought reprovingly, _He didn't force you to drink, Sev. You **know** that. _ And perhaps Severus Snape did. But he also was a decent judge of children, and he knew a lazy gadabout when he saw one. And Potter was _nothing_ if not a lazy gadabout. Quiddich! But Potter was the _only_ person Snape could ask. Everyone else was doing as well as they could (or in the case of a few of the Gryffindors, would not improve enough even if they were performing at full potential, something that Severus Snape was fully certain would take thumbscrews).

It was this Severus Snape that wrote a letter to Harry Potter that morning, and we the audience can bless our lucky stars for that, his previous tries being far more conflagatory**. Wishing to keep his headache at bay (preferably by lying under the covers until noon or so, he hadn't been getting much sleep...), his brushstrokes were firm and short.

* * *

That evening, when Potter at last consented to be in the Great Hall for meals, an only slightly haggard and sallow face followed his, as he read the letter. Severus Snape was confounded to see Harry Potter smile.

 _Mister Potter,_

 _Improve your grades in Potions class, posthaste._

 _I ask you this as a favor, and I am willing to provide adequate recompense._

 _I believe 24 hours of my time ought to prove sufficient, if used wisely._

 _If used unwisely, they'll get you out of a considerable number of detentions._

 _Severus Snape_

*absinthe, in case the description didn't explain itself.

**not quite a neologism, surprisingly. (googling for spelling, which isn't quite right, as it's not used often enough to make it into the online sources. Anyone got a good OED handy?)

[a/n: god, I love Snape's point of view. Sarcastic, a touch mean, and very, very prickly. Please, read and Review! Poetry next time.]


	9. Sparks, Flame

_I can dive straight into the teeth of the wind,_

 _But your gaze tears my heart to shreds._

 _Don't you know what you do to me?_

 _You leap through the hearth and bon,_

 _Your eyes as bright as the flames you tread._

 _My fearful heart leaps into my throat._

 _Yet you, the bright salamander,_

 _sit curled inside the fire._

 _Don't you know that mere mortals like me_

 _burn?_

 _I shudder to think what I'd feel if I touched you,_

 _tasted that fire flickering over my callused hands._

 _You lurk like a wolf at the edge of the firelight,_

 _like a dream at the edge of waking._

 _Don't vanish on me, I couldn't bear it._

"Hermione! What are you reading!" Ron morfled, his mouth still stuffed with food.

"Yeah, getting a lot of letters lately, Mione." Harry said with a smile.

"Who's the lucky boy?" Gin said, and Hermione wanted to kill her - before reminding herself, sharply, that she hadn't told Gin because it would get back to the boys.

Who always loved a mystery, and would never, ever let one go.

Slamming the letter into a book, Hermione stood and said, "I forgot my book for Charms! See you at class!"

Neville gave a slow grin, and turned to Gin, asking "How long until she remembers Charms comes before lunch, not after?"

[a/n: arrgh! poetry so hard! Particularly poetry I'm trying to force. Am lucky Draco is bad at the poetry - means I don't need to try so hard.

Read, review? I'll write more, soon!]


	10. Potions Detention, Mark 1

Hermione Granger had somehow managed to teleport from Ancient Runes. That was the only explanation, Draco Malfoy thought crossly. Because here she was, looking completely unruffled, laying out the ingredients. With the barest of glances up at him, she said shortly, "We'll be needing bicorn horn, and crushed caryatids *"

"As if you needed to tell me that, girl." Draco Malfoy was careful to put the same scorn in what he said that he'd have used if he had used the word Mudblood. It wasn't the words that mattered, but the tone.

The potion itself was easy enough to brew - Snape never assigned projects that weren't at least half done, and able to be completed by Longbottom besides.

Within five minutes, the two of them were in a heated argument on the merits of a proposed substitution of wisent horn for the bicorn horn. Odds were looking good for the substitution, Malfoy admitted within his head, while not quite daring to speak the words aloud. He would _not_ compliment her.

Finally, Granger looked up at him, her warm brown eyes glowing fiercely, "Let's try it and find out!"

Draco frowned back, saying shortly, "But the potion's past that point... _Surely_ you don't mean to..." After all, adding more at this stage would be disasterous - and she knew that, right?

"Let's start another! You can handle the first one, and if we're right on this... just think of the possibilities!" Granger's grin was showing off her overbite, her hair was as wild as he'd ever seen it (she had a tendency to not mind it in potions class - there were enough other things to keep track of) - and yet Draco found her more vibrant than anyone he'd ever met.

"This was your idea. You'll take the blame if my godfather gets upset." Which he will, because Severus Snape was not fond of Gryffindors in the first place - let alone ones who took it on themselves to experiment in his classroom. Nevermind that with Draco Malfoy there, Granger was safer than a sausage-kitten rolled up in one of his mother's towels.

To no one's great surprise, Snape was furious when he stormed back in - both because Granger would need to stay later to finish the damnable "improved" potion, and because he hadn't been consulted first.

"If, Miss Granger, you insist on being a know-it-all and improving the academic curriculum with your ill-advised experiments, You will complete an essay on the merits of each proposed substitution, and their combinations, before every session. Draco Malfoy, you will complete the same - as her partner, I hold you responsible for this incaution and Gryffindor stupidity."

"Yes sir." Draco Malfoy said shortly, cursing his luck on the whole "now you've got ten essays assigned for two days from now" business. Not that they weren't deserved, which in some way made it feel worse. After all, it was easy to blame a stupid teacher assigning pointless, crappy essays.

Granger was nearly vibrating with excitement on her way out - was she actually looking _forward_ to the essays? Yes, yes she was.

*yes, I do know what a caryatid is. but it sounds like an insect, so pretend it's a magical one!

[a/n: Write me a review. I hate writing these conflict bits, but they're just as much part of the story as the poetry.

Up Next: more poetry, of course. And Hermione Hunting.

Write a review if you like this story - and if you don't, I've got others for you!]


	11. Valkyrie

As the children left, Snape smiled a quiet smile - glad that they were still... so childlike. There was much to this world of woe and heartbreak - they didn't deserve to touch it a moment sooner than necessary. And it would come quickly enough, anyhow - the stormclouds on the orizon promised rain.

* * *

When the thunder rolls, you'll strap on your breastplate, and unsheathe your sword,

and spare nary a thought for me.

Charging in the vanguard, into the heat of battle and blows furious and wild,

and spare nary a thought for me.

Headlong and heedless of danger or worry, into the fires of Hel themselves -

and spare nary a thought for me.

If you think of me at all, before the poppies break the ground -

spare me only a kiss.

I would stand in Valhalla, and lift my glass in your honor.

Valkyrie mine.

Hermione stood up to catch the letter, noting absentmindedly that it was addressed in a different handwriting this time. Ron nearly grabbed it from her hands, before she could even sit down - let alone read it. "Ron! What the hell are you doing!? That's _my_ mail!"

"You never cared before." Ron said, "Who's it from? What do they have to say?"

"It's private. And I'd hardly know what they have to say, as I haven't opened it yet." Hermione said crossly. "If I don't want to tell you, I'm not going to, and that's final."

"Hermione's got a boy-friend! He's sending her let-ters!" Harry Potter said in a singsong voice - only to break off whatever he was going to say, at Hermione's glare. Wait, he was right about that? His face was a mirror of confusion and dread - he really hadn't meant to pick on Hermione...

Strolling down from his usual perch at the head of the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy said, conversationally, "Personally, I think she's sending them to herself. Self-important bint."

Hermione, already upset, had climbed to her feet at Draco Malfoy's words, "I never! I would never send letters to myself! That's just not true!"

Reeking of arrogance, Draco Malfoy said clearly, "And everyone knows Hermione Granger never lies." With an ironic roll of his eyes that put the lie to what he just said, he sauntered out of the Great Hall, leaving the Gryffindors baffled.

"What the hell was that about?" Dean Thomas asked, "He almost managed that without an insult."

"Well, he was in the Great Hall... not exactly the best place to throw a punch..." Zambini said, his quiet presence revealed as he leaned against the wall near the Gryffindor table, "He was setting the stage, you know - Nott's running the pool, and was getting more than a bit upset with how lopsided it was..."

"The pool? What pool?" Harry Potter asked.

"On who's been sending the letters to Granger..." Zambini said with a sharklike smile.

"They're betting on that!?" Hermione stood up, her face turning red.

"And on the Quiddich cup, and on whether Snape will hex Longbottom this year, and on whether Ernie can make McGonagall smile... On everything, really." Zambini said.

Ron whispered, "I should have known, really."

"Now that everyone's heard you say you weren't sending the letters to yourself, well, the betting's wide open. Whoever it turns out to be - that's much better for business."

Harry looked up at Zambini and asked, "What's Malfoy get out of it?"

"Damned if I know - an unspecified favor most likely. Redeemable tommorrow or the next of never." Zambini said with a shrug, and strolled off - leave it to Draco Malfoy to be a great conversation starter.

[a/n: Zambini has his own plans... read and write me a review, plz!]


	12. Sal A Mander

Hermione Granger was so wrapped up in her books at breakfast, that she almost didn't notice the owl swooping over her food. She was busy studying - nearly as hard as Draco Malfoy was, Zambini wagered - although Draco was too proud to be caught studying in the Great Hall, he was certainly eating as quickly as he could, his knife and fork making neat, nearly dainty cuts.

Although, with that business yesterday, Draco would have been covered had he looked up at Granger as the owl swooped down - he just glanced up briefly. With fewer constraints, Zambini leaned back and watched the show. And what a show it was! Ron and Harry - the Troublesome Duo - were lunging for the owl, who was circling Hermione's head (both boys knew better than to touch her).

After three shakes of a lamb's tail, Hermione looked up at the breeze, and found the owl buffeting her with its wings. "Thank you" she said shortly, grabbing the letter. "Sal A Mander" Harry whispered, followed by a hearty laugh, "Hermione, that's not even your mail!"

"Give it!" Ron Weasley lunged at the letter, as Hermione deftly tucked it into her herbology book (she had been reviewing the songweeds again, as they might be useful in Potions. One never put anything critical in a potions book, as one might spill something on it).

"Don't be silly, Harry" Hermione said with a smile - still reading, even as she lifted the book to look into Harry's eyes. "Owls won't deliver mail to the wrong person."

"Your name's ...?" Harry sputtered, looking as baffled as Greg did at the mention of maths.

"It's a nickname, sillikins." Hermione said, stnading swiftly and leaping lightly over the bench, before retreating from view. Probably headed towards the library, Zambini thought.

 _As I listen to the rhythm of the waves on the water_

 _I feel an itch rising, a fierce fire burning and building in me_

 _Like a grain of sand trapped in an oyster_

 _Someday when a fisherman finds me_

 _He'll crack me open, and discover a pearl_

 _Broken and bleeding, I'll fly overboard_

 _And you'll make a fine necklace_

 _The finest black pearl._

Hermione Granger shook her head, looking at the odd bit of verse - self-contradictory, strange and accurate at the same time. It was a riddle, but one that didn't shout at her to solve it immediately. If everyone else in the entire school was betting - well, Hermione, for one, was content to let the secret lie fallow. Perhaps it would multiply - like mushrooms kept from the sun. Or perhaps it would grow, turn weighty, even crystallize. But to turn the harsh light of day on a secret that seemed to shine with strange colors the world had never seen? It seemed wrong somehow. Hermione Granger knew it was uncharacteristic of her - she loved unravelling mysteries, but as she thought of it a bit more (her legs swinging off her chair), she understood. This was a mystery like an unraveling sweater. Pull too quickly and it would simply snarl - and then you'd never get it straight!

[a/n: sometimes it's the poetry, sometimes it's the fighting. This story is difficult for me, so write me a review to remind me that people read it

Old Poem: (New Poem Is Above)

Humility's a virtue I'll never understand.

You remind me of a grain of sand -

stuck inside a plump oyster.

Irritating, itching, aggravating...

From every grain of sand by happenstance thrown

into an oyster turns to a pearl grown

from affliction to elegance,

from jot to weighty jewel.

Speaker - see in these humble, mirror-like words

your portrait reflected anew.

May you comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable-

And to Hades any that might gainsay you!

.]


	13. Fire, Ice and Pain

Dinner was over, and it was time for Potions "class" (really, detention, but as they had been excused from _actual_ class, and their marks were riding on it, it was really class). Hermione had bookmarked about five pages worth of material in seven different books, and had about three proposed "improvements" to their potion. Smoothing her dress - as smoothing her hair would make precisely no difference, she stepped into the room and began to prepare the workspace. Not that it wasn't perfectly clean - Snape _always_ had someone to clean the cauldrons - generally Longbottom, she thought with a pang of guilt at not helping him. But, honestly, _this_ was fascinating! They were moving ahead, and learning more about experimentation than the 7th year NEWT students generally did.

Draco Malfoy was precisely three minutes early, using the open door to the Potions classroom (and why hadn't she closed it? A stray gust of wind could spoil the flame) to look inside as he lurked out in the hallway. If he was as dark as Zambini, he'd have felt like a groo. Instead, he felt like a lost ghost, watching Granger put the workspace together, ruthless efficiency marred slightly by doublechecking the books. If she was to be a professional, she'd have to get over that, Draco Malfoy thought idly. With a soft beep, his time spell reminded him he was supposed to enter. Schooling his face to passivity was instinct, and it happened just as he crossed the threshold, remembering to shut the door.

Severus Snape was in his quarters, grading papers as usual, when he heard the raised voices. Standing up, he strode swiftly to the door - getting halfway there before he realized that it was Granger and Draco. He had lost track of time, again. Cursing his inattentiveness, he found himself distracted anew by the conversation on the other side of the door. Granger's arguments unfolded like the petals of a rose, precise and yielding up sweetness if one bothered to listen to all of them. Not that Snape had ever liked roses - he had always been fonder of weeds. Draco's arguments were a duelist's, parrying with his short knife, and slashing with the saber, his cloak dangling from an arm to baffle his opponent. Miss Granger never really had a chance - Draco was far too skilled, trapping her in uncertainty, or moving so that the ground she had claimed was _obviously_ his. Gryffindors were always so blasted straightforward - which had never before seemed such a shame. With Miss Granger's intellect, she'd have been a formidable debater... With a shrug, Severus Snape thought, _I suppose the light will have to settle for a strategist._ With another frown, Snape thought of all the hidden dangers a Slytherin could weave. A Gryffindor's sense of strategy was to charge in boldly. It was stupid, and implausible, and ever so arrogant.

By the end of the lesson, Snape cracked the door to two winded children (Granger, to no one's surprise, was glaring at Draco), and one very perfect looking potion. "Do you have some suggestions for improvement?" Snape asked in his silky voice.

Draco spoke up, "Yes sir," as his eyes flicked warningly to Miss Granger.

"Elaborate, if you please." Severus Snape purred, and Hermione Granger began to speak.

Severus made a few suggestions, and left the two brewing. He'd check on them later, just to make _certain_ they weren't... preoccupied.

[a/n: Hermione Granger makes clean, well-manicured arguments. I hope you enjoyed the description of an argument, while leaving the details entirely out. Is this too much tell and not enough show? Please, do write a review!]


	14. Pandora

Draco Malfoy was lying on his bed, with his curtains carefully spelled shut. Not that that would stop Goyle or Crabbe, if they really wanted to get in - they had the annoying habit of collapsing the entire bed, which was inconvenient, as then you'd have to fix the bed before you could actually get out of it, the curtains being sealed and all. Luckily, he hadn't needed help with that spell since first year. Slytherin Prefects had a wicked sense of humor, and it ran acerbic at times. Still, the letter would be completely wrecked in that case, so nobody would know what he was writing. It was all good.

Girls liked stories, didn't they? he thought, spinning his quill (something one of his tutors had long ago taught him, as a way to keep him from chewing on it, which besides from ruining the thing, also had the inconvenient habit of leaving inkstains on all and sundry).

 _Once there was a girl named Pandora,_

 _Who got a terribly full amphora,_

 _She couldn't wait to see what lay unseen,_

 _Out of the jar tumbled devils hungry and mean._

 _The last of course, she snatched from midair,_

 _Not valiant hope, but blackest despair._

 _Back it went into the jar of misfortune._

 _Dumbfounded man goes innocent forth_

 _Through all manner of conflagration._

 _Never dreaming what Pandora was worth._

 _Think not, I seek to compare you to Pandora -_

 _Neither are you the demons, batlike and with stings_

 _You are the amphora itself, in truth._

 _And woe be to any who might break your wings._

Draco read it over again, scattering sand across it (nevermind what that would do to his sheets.) Straightening, he sealed it without wax - his tutors' conscience plucking at him, telling him how informal it was. But it would do, and _she_ wouldn't care. Wouldn't know to care, even.

* * *

Two miscreants crouched below a half-height bookshelf, peeking out through cracks in the books that they themselves had made. _How very interesting,_ Blaise Zambini thought, staring at the black and red mops beneath him. Quickly, he dropped to a crouch too, and asked, in that Slytherin-silent voice, "What's going on?"

It was all worth it, he thought, as he saw the two Gryffindors levitate nearly a foot in the air. "What are you doing here?" Ron hissed at him, his hand on his wand despite that if Blaise wanted to get them in trouble there were far easier ways.

"What do you think? Watching you." Blaise said affably. "You look like you've found something interesting..."

Harry was studying him, with those bright green eyes, somehow managing an inscrutable look - and Blaise would give a lot to know how he had managed that, the Gryffindor's temper and bluntness were legendary. "Have a look." He said in the same affable tone that Blaise had used - although Blaise hadn't missed the fact that Potter's wand was out, and his motion to "have a look" really meant putting Blaise's back to the two Gryffindors. In the library, he thought decisively. They aren't about to start something in the library.

Blaise looked, and concealed a smile - it was Draco and Granger, sitting at the same table, piled high with books. Well, there was a pile in the middle and it looked like it would be increasing by the hour.

"Why are you spying?" Blaise asked Potter, acting oblivious to the red headed terror starting to turn red in the face as well.

"Only wanted to know whether they're competing on who can get more books, or fighting over the books they do have." Potter said mildly.

"Competing. Granger won't risk getting kicked out of the library for love or money." Blaise said confidently, in a low tone that was sure not to carry.

"And Malfoy?" Weasley asked, somehow managing to keep enough of a leash on his temper to attack a fellow student in the library. Zambini was certain that last time someone had been attacked in the library, Pince had thrown enough of a fit that the rapscallion had taken to bribing other members of his house to get books for him.

"Draco isn't about to lose to Granger. Too competitive to even consider it, really." Zambini said firmly.

Potter nodded, still studying Blaise, and then asked quietly, "You're pretty good at potions, right?"

A pin might have dropped, in the time it took Blaise to reconsider his options thrice. Finally, he nodded, and said, "Not as good as them, but fair enough."

"You think you could tutor me? Hermione's too busy and I don't want to bother her." Harry said, as Blaise bit back a oath about bloody self-sacrificing Gryffindors. This would do nicely, nicely indeed.

"I'm not going to do it for free, you realize?" Blaise asked coldly.

"I think I could get Neville to tutor you in Herbology."

"I'm good at Herbology. But, from what I hear, you're tops at Defense. Why didn't you offer that?"

Potter actually stretched his arms (Blaise had to stop himself from pushing those hands down under the top of the bookshelf. that would look more suspicious, not less) and then shrugged, saying, "Didn't think of it I suppose. You want that, instead?"

Blaise nodded firmly, thinking with no small gratitude exactly how much of a conversation starter Draco Malfoy was becoming. Not that he'd tell him, of course - his ego didn't need any more stroking. But a gift or two might not be inappropriate. Blaise stood, and walked away without whistling like he'd like to (library, of course). But it was turning out to be a surprisingly good day.

[a/n: library scene is after supper. Read and Review!]


	15. Shadowy sussurations

Another day, another owl. Draco Malfoy had visited the Owlery again, hooting softly at his favored bird - dull brown, just like all the others, but with a bent tailfeather. Just enough for him to know which it was. In all likelihood, he thought, he wouldn't be using this bird again. Still, he behaved as if it was every other day, and sent the owl (now be-laden with missive) winging off towards the Great Hall.

Hours later, Hermione Granger opened her letter -the boys had tried to snatch it twice, the third time trying the excuse that they thought it might have been cursed. Which might have worked, had they tried it the _first_ week. Now she knew they were just curious who it was. She had told them primly that the author never signs his name (and then they had a field day saying it must be a boy, and trying to spitball 'who it was' from that scrap, before she calmly corrected them (with an irritated stomp of her foot to get their attention) that he was a generic usage good for when you don't know which gender you're talking about.

Unmentioned, Hermione privately thought, was the idea that the person seemed... a bit too possessive to be a girl. Also less into flowers and girly things. Hermione supposed having a lady admirer wouldn't be nearly as bad, if she'd only wear trousers like a sensible lass. Still, Hermione herself liked looking at boys, moreso than covertly ogling her roommates. Not that she'd ever admit to covertly ogling Ron or Harry, but it never hurt to _look_ , did it?

 _When the witching hours come -_

 _In the darkness you cannot plumb_

 _There I dwell, there I lurk_

 _When the times seem bleak_

 _I know you won't be meek._

 _As I fade into the mirk_

 _I lurk so well, people never did see_

 _never got figured what it's like to be me._

Odd, Hermione thought, he speaks of himself, but in the elipsis, in the lacunae - the holes that are there, that tease. So many words in praise of me, weeks worth, in fact - and yet, here, he speaks of himself. Forgotten, alone, quiet, subtle, hidden.

[a/n: running out the door, write me a review and I'll write more when I get back].


	16. All Together, Lonely Hearts

It was after supper, so of course Malfoy and Granger were in the library, books piled everywhichway - Ron and Harry, were they here, would have wondered why they hadn't toppled yet - Granger and Malfoy seemed to have two antithetical systems of order, and Blaise, were he here, would have instantly placed a bet on how long until they got kicked out of the library for toppling books.

Halfway to curfew, or thereabouts, Draco Malfoy set his plan in motion. He looked up at Granger and said, in his smooth, unruffled voice, "Come with me."

Hermione Granger looked up, a thousand different thoughts tumbling through her brown eyes. "What?!"

"Why?" she continued, moments later

Her eyes seemed to light up as she asked, "Where?"

"Reverse order. To the stacks, it's obvious, and yes, I did notice you were using my books." Draco Malfoy smirked, leaning back on his chair precariously, before springing lightly and gracefully to his feet.

Hermione sprung to her feet, less catlike - more of a flowing surge - "I only did that because you used mine first! And I needed to know about the witchhazel's interactions with ambergris!"

"Just then, did you?" Draco Malfoy smirked, as he turned and walked towards a disused portion of the library. Granger trotted along after him, unused to the quick (yet elegant) walking gait of a Malfoy.**

They reached the next to last row of stacks, and Malfoy walked to the end, pretending to look around, before pulling a book right over Granger's head (his hand brushed her surprisingly soft hair, and he instantly tucked away the memory of her shaken face.)

"What, you didn't think I'd taken you back here to touch you, did you?" Draco smirked beneath a scowl. Not giving her a chance to protest, he said coldly, "Here, read this." And strode back the way he came.

Hermione took one look at the book, and caught easily up to him (naughty girl, running in the library!). "Why are you giving me this? What sort of a trick is it?"

"First of all, I don't need to trick you to win. Malfoys always do, you know." Draco Malfoy said, hiding a smile behind his normal impassive face. "It's just not sporting when you can't argue that the sky's blue and win the argument."

With that, Draco Malfoy turned to leave, as Hermione Granger called after him, "Since when have Slytherins cared about sporting?!" Silence, of course, was the only answer.

[a/n: gosh. even easy, short interactions turn long with these two. Anyone got a clue what Draco's up to? Read and Review, if you want more...]

**It's surprisingly quiet. And dainty.


	17. When the tabby's away

_I would not protect you from battle_

 _as well protect the falcon from the sky_

 _But when the darkness gathers_

 _I'll not let you cry._

It was shorter than some, and yet, Draco Malfoy thought, enigmatically more heartfelt. Hermione Granger - the Gryffindor Princess - had gayly surrounded herself with thoughtless and careless people. Not that Potter meant to be thoughtless, he was simply self-absorbed. Draco snorted as he idly whittled his quill. People thought Draco Malfoy was self-absorbed. Utter nonsense, that. A Slytherin couldn't afford to sleep with both eyes shut - and while awake, he liked to keep track of everything around him. Draco Malfoy was a young man who knew himself - and he knew he was smug, and often arrogant. But self-absorbed? Never.

So it came as no surprise when the Terrible Twins (that being Ron and Harry) tried to swipe the letter out of the owl's clutches next morning. And it came as even less of a surprise when Hermione Granger began to lecture them - her beautiful eyes sparkling, richly brown, like melted chocolate. He didn't quite catch what Harry said, but Draco certainly caught what Ron Weasley said after, "We're just trying to look out for you, 'Mione!" Draco suppressed a snort. Those two wouldn't know how to look after Granger if someone paid them a thousand galleons. Did they really think she was just opening the letters without checking them for potions and the like?

She had, after all, been helping Potter with his 'fan mail.' Draco Malfoy's liips quirked into a sideways smirk, which he looked down to carefully conceal. _May he hate them just as much as I do mine. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm above a bit of decent flattery - but these chits don't know me from Adam!_ And it's hard to craft a decent compliment like that.

Granger, as was typical, stormed off - probably heading toward the library. It wasn't like she'd try anything in the least bit tricksy to get back on her friends. So she totally missed the two chuckleheads starting to whisper quietly, scheming no doubt. That was the problem with Gryffindors - it wasn't that they couldn't scheme, it was that they were so bloody obvious about it.

Well, they had picked the wrong tiger today, Draco Malfoy thought with a carefully hidden smirk. He'd enjoy getting the Gryffindor puppies running in circles until they were sniffing each other's arses. Now that, that was almost poetical. He'd have to remember it - might help rub salt into their mysteriously inflicted wounds.

[a/n: write a review if you love me! Draco _really_ doesn't like Potter and Weasley, can you tell?]


	18. Hats and Battering Rams

It was a good poem, Draco thought, as he passed it quietly to a first year Slytherin. Grant knew better than to speak to Potter and Weasley at least, even if he was still head over heels with Pansy Parkinson of all people. Well, he'd figure that one out soon enough. Slytherins always did get wise to the jealousy trap. Let Potter and Weasley try and pry who was sending these out of a bevenomed Slytherin trap.

 _Some people are blunt and to the point,_

 _Their minds like a club or a mace._

 _Others are quiet, silent things,_

 _a garotte in the dark, or a dagger in the back._

 _Some are overbalanced, requiring strength to wield -_

 _A bastard sword, or a two-handed headsman's axe._

 _All of these are neither you nor me._

 _You are a battering ram, more suited to buildings than mortal men._

 _Edifices of stone, morals shatter cleaner than bone._

 _And me? I'm a swordbreaker._

 _A terrible choice for the finishing blow -_

 _but the perfect choice to leave your enemy defenseless,_

 _a shattered katana his only defense._

It was a good tale, and fit with those ridiculous hats Granger was knitting in her copious (mythical!) spare time. She was just like that, someone who would see Great Wrongs and figure she could right them by simple force of personality alone. Some might term it arrogance, but that wasn't quite it - it was sanctimonious hubris. She'd never manage it by herself, of course - Gryffindor bravery was far more suited to other tasks than changing people's minds. That was a Slytherin art, well honed and polished.

[a/n: up next, Potter and Weasley].


	19. One little Slytherin, for two zuzim

It was Potions. Advanced Potions. Harry Potter had known he had beat the test, when even Snape couldn't find something to complain about. It had... almost been easy. Zambini had been a good teacher - a lot better than Hermione, and not just because Hermione was a bit of a softie and prone to passing papers once he had half learned something. No, it was patience that Hermione seemed to lack, Harry thought, as he stood outside the door.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, as she looked - well, startled actually.

Harry concealed a smile, as he says, "Class starts in five minutes, doesn't it?"

"... but you aren't..." Hermione managed to get out, before pausing as she took in Harry's irrepressible grin.

"Am now. Passed the test, if you can believe it." Harry says with a grin, wondering, for a brief second, just exactly why Snape would make a test easy enough for him to pass.

Hermione stated in the snottiest tone possible, "The great and magnificent Harry Potter managed to pass a test that Potions Master Snape designed? Say it isn't so!" Her tone rose at the end to flabbergasted gossip.

"'Fraid so." Zambini said, materializing out of a sidehallway that neither of them had been watching. The two Gryffindors whirled on him, with glares of equal intensity. "Wasn't trying to startle you, ya know?" And Zambini gave them the rogueish grin he was famous for - one that Harry had heard made enough girls wet in the knickers...

Cutting off that train of thought, Harry said, "Hey, you made it!" At which point, Hermione Granger's eyes got big, and she stared at Harry Potter. Harry felt he could read her mind - was Harry actually being nice to a Slytherin?

At this point, Malfoy sauntered in, waving a dry "G'day." and turning to Granger, saying, "Dandelion root or Marsh's Mallow? We're going to need something for the astringency."

"Not if we balance the bitterness with a dash of lemon." Granger responded tartly. Malfoy opened the doors, and looked at everyone now staring at him.

"Daylight's burning. Let's get this done before curfew, right?" Malfoy drawled, and stepped inside.

Hermione and Malfoy began to set up at the same table, which was interesting enough - Harry had half thought that Hermione would be with him, simply because he wasn't Malfoy. Or a Slytherin, for that matter. Perhaps, she thought getting better grades was worth it? Harry Potter considered that, and then mentally shook his head. He hadn't thought _Malfoy_ cared about his grades that much - it wasn't at all bothersome that Hermione cared, because that was what she did.**

Zambini came over, carrying two cauldrons in his arms, smiling while saying, "I guess we're working together?" Without really waiting for Harry to answer, Zambini began to set out the cauldrons. "You _can_ get the ingredients, you know..." Zambini said with a goofy grin, taking most of the sting out of the jibe at Potter's inattention.

"Right, right..." Harry said, as he ambled toward the ingredients storage area, where Hermione and Malfoy were already there - arguing. From the sound of it, Harry'd better get over there, before someone managed to "drop" something encased in glass on the other person's. Thinking this, he increased his speed.

Stepping in between the two was asking to get spat on - they were nearly breathing in each other's mouths, they were leaning so close together. Harry, being both a Gryffindor and a Seeker, was undeterred. He walked in between them, forcing both of them to take an unwanted half-step back. It said something that they both didn't want to take a full step back, didn't it? Some people were just stubborn like that, Harry supposed.

The argument didn't show any signs of ending, either, even after both Malfoy and Hermione were back at the desk, acting all huffy towards each other (which was practically normal, compared to them shouting in each other's faces). Of course, neither Hermione nor Malfoy was actually going to let the argument lapse. _Stubborn, I tell you._

By the middle of the potions class, Malfoy had drawled something, and Hermione was standing on her tiptoes to get enough height to look Malfoy straight in the eye. Harry Potter was just starting to consider doing something about this - as _clearly_ something needed to be done (He was _not_ going to suggest being Malfoy's partner. That would be _worse_ than this, surely?)...

Zambini suddenly spoke up, "You certainly don't expect us to let you turn the _entire_ class into an argument, do you?"

Almost as one, Malfoy and Hermione Granger turned to look at Zambini. _Apparently, they did..._ Harry thought, as Zambini stared back, looking just as implacable.

Zambini twirled his knife in his hands, once, and then said - to Harry, of all people, who did not want to be part of this argument... "I suppose it's obvious, isn't it?"

Baffled, Harry looked at Blaise Zambini, and asked "What's so obvious?" Harry turned back towards Malfoy just in time to see the arrogant boy's smirk wiped clear off his face by Zambini's next words.

"Malfoy likes Granger." Zambini said in a sing-song, schoolyard tone. Malfoy responded with a murderous glare, his eyes narrowing into slits.

And then Zambini elbowed Potter, who looked at him. Zambini then made a gesture, pointing to Hermione, and then to Malfoy. Harry still looked baffled. Zambini repeated the gesture. Twice. Finally, a light seemed to dawn in Harry's face. Mimicking Zambini precisely, he responded with, "Granger likes Malfoy!" in that precise, schoolyard, singsong tone.

And now the two erstwhile allies were met with twin glares. "As if!" both Malfoy and Granger responded, leaving Harry Potter thinking that it might be impossible for those two to ever like each other - they were far too much alike. It would be like the Weasley twins dating each other, except _worse_.

"Look here," Zambini said, blatantly ignoring the fact that both of the argumentative twits were glaring at him, "You can't keep arguing like this. Either you'll end up kissing, or you'll get blood in my cauldron!" With his last few words, Zambini let a little of his exasperation at the two slip into his voice.

"You think there's a way to stop them from arguing?" Harry looked at his partner doubtfully. He had never managed to stop anyone from arguing. Not his aunt, not Ron, not even poor Neville Longbottom. When someone got their heels stuck in the mud, it didn't work to try and drag them away.

"Yeah. Look, we've got four people here. That's four cauldrons. Granger - Malfoy - you each get two recipes. We'll each take one, and that way, you can stop arguing about what's best. We'll just test them." It was a sound idea, Harry couldn't help but think. Not that solid ideas stood much chance of getting through those two thick skulls (Oh, sure, Harry Potter liked Hermione just fine, but she was _stubborn_. It was part of what he liked about her).

Hermione, of course, had questions, "But what if we don't come up with four different recipes?"

"You will, most of the time. And, pairing up in potions has never been a problem before. I doubt Snape would mind."

"Professor Snape." Hermione said, to which Zambini grinned.

Whatever Zambini was about to say, it was smoothly cut off by Malfoy, who fairly drawled poison as he said, "I suppose I could make sure Potter got the easy recipe."

Harry Potter turned hostile eyes towards Draco Malfoy, until his mind caught up to what his ears had just heard. His face relaxed, and he sent a grateful look towards the pale boy.

"Stop that." Malfoy snapped at Potter, who mentally filed away in his "Drawer of Potentially Useful Things to be examined During Free Time, Should It Ever Exist" that Malfoy was just as awkward about accepting thanks as he was resistant to giving it.

**Just Harry rearranging "expectations" in his head. Not actually annoyed at Hermione.

[a/n: Ahh. Finishing a thread feels nice. Next up more poetry. Write me a review, and I'll update quicker.]


	20. Prickly gifts, good for bloodletting

_I ask you to grant me a bit of laxitude,_

 _to cut me some slack, if you will._

 _I am not skilled at this telling of truth..._

 _But then again, who is?_

 _The Gryffindor talks of bravery -_

 _as he nearly pisses his boots with fear._

 _The Hufflepuff talks of cameraderie-_

 _there's power in numbers, if not good cheer._

 _The Slytherin wields lies like a scalpel -_

 _truth hits too close to home._

 _The Ravenclaw grasps for ways and wiles -_

 _truth escapes from him like foam._

 _Let truth be my witness, in these pages at least,_

 _I'll give you what few dare to speak._

 _A kind lie can be as cruel as a spiteful one._

 _"You sing well," said the Hufflepuff, kindly._

 _"Your singing would wake the dead." said the Slytherin,_

 _forbearing to finish with, "if only to slay you to silence."_

 _Truth's the ugly sister, the snapping wit,_

 _the sharp knife turning brittle._

 _I could weave you a web of lies,_

 _pretty sparkling things - not a truth in sight._

 _Something tells me that's not the way to your heart._

 _That if you are a pilgrim, you journey towards Truth._

 _Let me clear your way - it's been so long,_

 _it's quite grown over with thorns._

 _You haven't the placidness of a babbling brook,_

 _Nor the grit of the sirocco sweeping the plain._

 _You've the zephyr's simple playful delight -_

 _And the fire's all-consuming curiosity._

 _What I see, I'll tell._

 _And I see more than you'd imagine._

Another day, another poem. Draco gave this one to a slender Slytherin - reminded, rather inexplicably, of Harry Potter at that age - he didn't need to say a word (though that was perhaps because of the rearranged letters - the lad would figure it out soon enough, if Draco didn't miss his guess). Ah, it was how short he was, and the slender build. Potter had always been tougher than he looked - the almost porcelain fragility belied by his hearty coloration. Almost the opposite of Severus Snape, for that matter - Snape had an air of deadly danger, even if he was as pallid as if he never left the dungeon. Malfoy had smiled as people had whispered about his godfather being a vampire. It was ridiculous on the face - he refereed Quiddich Matches, for Merlin's Sake!

Draco pulled another letter from his pocket, and sauntered up behind the slender Slytherin. A simple eavesdropping spell would do, he thought. Perfect for getting the Troubled Two in trouble. Not that Draco was a prefect, not quite yet. But, it would be two on two, and Snape loved to catch Potter being less than perfect.

Two turns away from the Owlery, Draco winced, pulling himself into a windowseat, and drawing the curtains. Bloody Hell, but they were loud! What was the point of using eavesdropping spells if they were going to shout so? All the spell was doing was giving him hearing damage! **

"Was it you, then, who's been writing to our Hermione?" Weasley said, trying for an intimidating growl.

"Lemme go!" Rick (that was the Slytherin's name, Draco had finally remembered) squealed - Draco could picture him turning, trying to squirm (or was that slither?) away.

"Not before you tell us why!" Ah, there was Potter, arms crossed and full of indignation.

"Can't tell ya what I don't know, now can i?" Rick said, dropping his air of "let me out of here" and starting a dry laugh. "You lot really are as stupid as they say! My bollocks haven't even dropped yet, and you think I'm writing love poems! To a Gryffindor!" His laugh was half-snort in disbelief.

Draco could nearly hear the glance of uncertainty. Weasley put his hands on his hips, before he said crossly, "Well, who is it?"

"What's it to ya?"

"She's our friend." Potter said slowly, "And we don't take kindly to folks pestering her." Pestering! Is that what they were calling it? They weren't willing to admit that they didn't like the idea of someone competing for her attention, true enough. Draco smirked, knowing that it would be something he'd have trouble admitting as well.

"Thick! Thicker'n Goyle, and I didn't know that was possible!" Rick said with a snap in his voice. Draco nearly stiffened - people knew enough not to make fun of his friends - but then again, he wasn't supposed to be listening. Thinking thus, Draco subsided.

"How much will ya giv me if'n I tell ya who sent it?" Rick's face probably had that edge of greed, that grasping avarice that Slytherin used to be known for, before people decided it was the Home of Dark Wizards.

"Five galleons." Potter said, without blinking or thinking, which was typical of the bloke, true enough.

"She's your friend, and all she's worth to you is five galleons? Some friends you are!" Rick then did a double-take, just shy of comical. "Wait, you're a Weasley, ain't you?"

The two older boys exchanged a glance (still holding the firstie up in the air no doubt - concerned about him fleeing). "Yeah, what of it?"

"That'd make you Harry Potter, wouldn't it?" Rick said, and Draco knew that this was taking a turn to the absurd. Nobody in the Wizarding World forgot what Potter looked like. It wasn't done.

"Yeah, It would."

"Then I won't be telling you a damn thing! It'd be worth my hide if word got back to Slytherin - and don't say you can keep your traps shut."

There was a brief pause, as if Harry was about to say something, when Rick jumped in, petulantly, "Gryffindors can't! Mum said!"

"Is the writer someone from Slytherin?" Harry asked questioningly.

"The writer had gold, and that's all I cared to know." Rick said tartly. "May I go now, or do you intend to hold me, off the ground, until lunchtime?"

"Sorry about that." Said Weasley - and perhaps he was. Potter certainly wasn't.

"If you've got a galleon to spare, I'll tell you what a knut of common sense would have told you..." Draco stood, cancelling the eavesdropping spell, and walking toward the Owlery.

Sounds of an abortive scuffle came out of the room, and finally Ron said, "What?" to the sound of a chiming coin (hopefully a sickle. it didn't do to give in to Slytherin scheming, or they'd think you were an easy mark. Which those two were, but it wouldn't do if all Slytherin thought so. Too many schemes tended to wind folks up in the sanitarium).

"Ask a Gryffindor!" Rick said, laughing as he ran off. It was alright to scam a Gryffindor - especially if he was Harry Potter, and sidekick too!

**Draco can not actually see the scene. He's merely extrapolating. But, I remind you, he is a Slytherin, and pretty good at understanding people.

[a/n: Draco missed his cue, and doesn't get to punish the boys. Oh, well, always time for that tommorrow.]


	21. Hawthorn

_Poets have said that every rose has its thorn,_

 _But you're certainly not a rose, now are you?_

 _Holy Thorn, delicate flower encrusted with thorns -_

 _Your fiery eyes sparkle with determination._

 _Your tongue just as sharp as those thorns -_

 _And as beautiful._

 _You glow, alight from inside out -_

 _Shining with all the unseen colors._

It was early evening, Draco had finished the letter with speed, and strode down the dungeon hall, clad in a cloak and enough spells to reduce his voice to indistinguishability. Standing in a dark corner, he threw his voice - a small squeak came out, "Help me." it pleaded. Footfalls came and went.

Draco shook his head, and tried again."Help me." it was small, an eleven year old's cry - were the Hufflepuffs deaf, or was their house filled with liars like his own?

"Help me," the cry filled with pain - and Draco nearly smiled at the hurried gallumphing. The Hufflepuff prefect walked right past where Draco Malfoy was standing. Draco Malfoy strode into the center of the narrow hall, his bulk enshadowing the hall lest his shortness impede his intimidation.

"Ah... just the person I was looking for. Would you mind delivering a letter for me?" Draco Malfoy said in a perfectly polite tone - one that few people outside Slytherin would realize he possessed. He didn't even use it to stick-up-her-ass McGonagall, and he could have used the spare points in that class.

"What is it? Who's it to?" The Hufflepuff asked unnecessarily, grabbing the letter and looking at it. "Sal?" The Hufflepuff shook his head saying, "I don't know any Sals..."

"Use a school owl." Draco said quietly, turning to go.

"Wait." the Hufflepuff said, the doughty word commanding obedience as his earlier questions had not. There was a difference between idle curiosity and a Hufflepuff's moral rigidity, after all.

Draco turned slowly, and looked at the Hufflepuff impassively.

"I want you to swear that you mean this person no harm. I won't be a party to tricks or pranks." The Hufflepuff was frowning, his brown eyes upset. Had he been caught up by one of the WeaselTwins pranks? Draco silently wondered.

"I so swear." Draco said with a smile - well concealed by the hood.

The Hufflepuff walked off, muttering to himself about "Kids these days."

[a/n: sorry this took so long. Been working on other stories. if you want more of this one, you'll need to review.]


	22. Sky High in the Morning

It was earlier than breakfast, and Draco hated to be up this early, particularly without good reason. Luckily, today that was not the case. He idly twirled the letter he had in his hands - for his mother, of course. He always had a letter for her, at least once a week. He well knew that she'd not let him forget it without consequence. A Hufflepuff mother might try guilt - but a Slytherin one? There would be real consequences. Draco wasn't sure what they'd be (he'd never missed a letter, after all), but they would be felt. Possibly something to do with his broom, his mother had never really approved of his broomriding as a child.*

Still, a discrete eavesdropping charm would be well appropriate - particularly skillfully and silently cast (Draco always had a yearn to know what others thought was private. He wasn't all that good at silent casting, but this one spell he knew like the back of his own hand, with his eyes closed), as that Hufflepuff prefect was chuffily ascending the stairs.

Sure enough, he heard Weasel and Potty busy whispering to each other. "Ahah!" They jumped out, hollering at the prefect, who drew his wand at their bothersome antics.

"Who's the letter for?" The two Gryffs asked.

"It's none of your business, now is it? If it's for you, you'll be getting it, and if it's not, you oughtn't to bother asking." The Hufflepuff said coldly, as Draco grinned from his hiding place.

"But! Someone's been sending letters to Hermione!" Ron said, unable to understand why a Hufflepuff wasn't giving him all the answers demanded. Draco smiled coldly - if Ron couldn't see that the demands for private information was setting the 'puff off, Draco wasn't about to offer enlightenment.

"And so what if they have?" The Hufflepuff said, "Is that now a crime?"

Potter toed the ground with his foot (the scuffing was easily audible to Draco's charm), and said begrudgingly, "We think that he doesn't have the best of intentions. Might want to harm her or something..."

"It's not you, is it?" Ron demanded with a proper Gryffindor fire in his voice. So sad, Draco thought mockingly, that it was just going to get the 'puff's back up.

"I wouldn't tell you either way. It's quite simply none of your business. But I will say that I would never send a letter, be it mine or someone else's, without making sure it would do the recipient no harm." The Hufflepuff ground out the last words, "And I take offense that you would believe otherwise." Draco heard the distinct sound of cloth sliding against cloth, and decided it was time to enter stage right.

Draco Malfoy glided into view, his silver eyes appraising the lifted wand of the Hufflepuff, and the two younger students trying not to look gobsmacked. Too arrogant to understand that a Hufflepuff would have his own semblance of honor, and would even, occasionally, pick a fight against someone strong than himself to protect it.

Taking on the highhanded air that Lucius Malfoy loved to project, Draco asked, "Why is a prefect drawing his wand in the hallways? Are these two being a threat to property or to students?"

"Certainly not to students, no." The Hufflepuff prefect said with an earthy smile, the confidence of which looked a good deal like Neville Longbottom in a drop down dirty fight. "However, they seem to have taken a marked, and unhealthy, interest in this letter."

"Only fools fight over an apple, even one thrown by the gods themselves." Draco Malfoy said, disliking the analogy as he'd finished it, as it implied that the Hufflepuff was greater than he.

The two Gryffs exchanged a confused look, and then Harry said wildly, "Don't believe a word that _Slytherin_ says!" in his typical display of ignorance. No matter that what Draco had said was a mild aid coached as a slight, Potty was about to shove his head down the gift horse's neck.

"Wisdom from a Gryffindor, well, well..." Draco Malfoy said, playing for a bit of time before continuing in his customary drawl, "I suppose there is a first time for everything, truly."

The Hufflepuff made as if to speak, but the cluster of smaller students cut him off. Draco's light tenor sailed above the other two's furious murmurrings. "Your parents were fools, you know. Letting themselves get killed by the Dark Lord." Draco said in a somber tone that echoed meaningfully in the hall outside the Owlry.

The two Gryffs had their wands drawn in an instant. Unmoved, Draco stood insouciantly, saying, "Never believe a word that a Slytherin says, hmm?"

The Hufflepuff looked confused, and then more or less baffled, as the Gryffs moved alternately between confusion, frustration, and general obstancy. Draco shrugged, walked in between the three wands, and entered the owlry, calling for his proud white owl.

*He was seven.

[a/n: I like reviews. Will you write me one? ]


	23. Snape's Shampoo

Draco Malfoy waltzed into Potions class, early as usual. Hermione Granger was on his heels, which was decidedly not where he would have put her had he a choice in the matter. Not to be crass, but looking is free, after all. Blaise came in next, sliding smoothly into the third station. Potter tumbled in, his hair astray and rumpled.

"Potter, why is it that I have to do four hours straight of potions today?" Draco drawled.

"Apparently the Potions Professor thinks my detentions are more important than our lessons." Harry Potter said, seemingly unconcerned. Draco noticed the slight twitch of his hand, though, towards his wand. Not quite as nonchalant as all that, are we?

"Absolutely revolting, the way you manage to get so many detentions. What did Princess Pot do to deserve this one?" Draco Malfoy said, giving Harry Potter a genuine, elegant bow. There was no reason to ever skimp on manners, especially when mocking The Chosen One. (Chosen for What? Draco catcalled in his head.)

"Out after curfew. You'd think he'd expect to get caught." Granger said snottily, never mind that Potter was her close friend. Blaise snickered at that, and Draco caught himself wanting to glare at his fellow - since _when_ do we laugh at Gryffindor jokes?

"Potter never expects anything. I'm not sure he bothers to think about the next minute, let alone tommorrow." Draco Malfoy drawled, enjoying the flush spreading across Potter's face. Gryffindors were so easy to bait, it was practically criminal not to. "So let's give him the easy potion, eh?"

"You'd better. Isn't this one nearly an explosive?" Blaise drawled casually. "Wouldn't want Potter to blacken our reputation. Literally." In his mind, Draco had a brief glimpse of them all blackened by ash.

Draco Malfoy and Granger sat at the middle table, starting to confer about their four potion prescriptions. Meanwhile, Harry Potter and Blaise were busy discussing... the state of Draco's godfather's hair. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had the potions half organized (they were still fighting over who would get to make the difficult one with the lacewing beetles), when Draco Malfoy looked up and said, "It's not natural, you arse. It's to keep the fumes away. Why do you think I wear my hair slicked back, anyway?"

Harry Potter sat up straight (he had been hunched over the lab table whispering to Blaise - nevermind that Potter was the smallest kid in the grade), and said in wonder "I thought it was greasier today! Hermione, Didn't I say it was greasier - at Breakfast, even!"

Hermione Granger muffled a giggle, as she hid her mouth behind her hand, nodding slowly. "You did" she gasped out, her voice still merry with delight.

"My godfather's shampoo is to keep the fumes off. He works with so many potions a day that they're bound to react poorly with each other - and untreated hair absorbs like nobody's business." Draco gave them all a haughty glare, "You try keeping a Potions Master from making potions. It's a trial harder than standing before the Wizengamot."

Hermione, unable to keep the questions quiet, said suddenly, "Somoene's managed, though?"

"My mother." Draco responded crisply. "Three days around Christmas, she declares it a "No Brewing Holiday." " Draco paused for a moment, smiling softly, "I don't think she'd have managed it if she didn't lock the Potions Lab, though. Professor Snape sulks around the entire time reading journals and scrawling illegible notes that I don't think even he manages to read afterwards."

"I do not sulk." Professor Snape said huffily, strolling into the room. "And Potter, if you're so curious about my shampoo, I could switch yours for mine. Today even."

"N - no thank you, sir!" Harry Potter managed, at last managing a modicum of respect for his elders. Perhaps it was the sheer terror that Draco could see writ large on Potter's face. Really, what was so awful about Snape's hair? Sure, it was a bit stringy, and more than a bit greasy... Oh, I suppose Potter has a point. Draco conceded in his head what he wouldn't concede outloud.

"Get brewing, you lackadaisical slackers." Snape snapped, turning his back on them as Hermione Granger squeaked out a "Yes sir!"

Not a word more was spoken until the potions were properly stoppered and waiting for inspection.

[a/n: First, the authorial confession: I forgot which day of the week it was, and then I realized that Tuesday hadn't a potions class. So, erm, I improved the story, by weaving it in - now Snape feels free to run his "extracurricular class" whenever it pleases him.

And, most of the plot points that I had wanted to get in here didn't fit, somehow, so it'll have to wait until next week.

Leave a review, kiddos!

P.S. Has anyone deciphered the title of the story yet? Figured out where I'm going with this?]


	24. The Broken Quill

Draco Malfoy lay below the trapdoor in the North Tower of Hogwarts. It was after hours, so no one would be bothering Trelawney with Questions. And Trelawney only left her tower for mealtimes, anyway. There had been rumors of Trelawney's relationship with one Professor Severus Snape, but Draco Malfoy had been in the perfect position to understand the precise level of lunacy those gossips had transformed their minds into. As Looney as Lovegood, Draco cruelly quipped.

Oh, sure he could sink into a meloncholic air, and think his life was over - because he was in love, and it was entirely unrequited.

But, he thought, his mind turning bucolic - at least he wasn't in love with Lovegood! There would be a true challenge for the ages... The daft bint didn't seem to have a hint of romanticism in her - just foolish delusions that she'd rather chase than even think about a dance with a bloke! Ha!

Granger, on the other hand, well, had the air of someone who was a closet romantic. Who would really enjoy a gift of roses (blech. Roses were boring. He'd give a gift of snapdragons, if it wouldn't be bloody obvious. And if he wouldn't have to somehow get her into something flame retardant first.), but who had trained herself not to expect, nor really desire it.

Draco Malfoy knew the tale of the Fox and the Sour Grapes by heart, after all. As a child, it had been one of his favorites (even if, strangely, only his godfather seemed to know the tale).**

With a fond smile on his face, he put quill to parchment...

 _Tall like an oak tree you stand_

 _Taller in countenace and mien than stature_

 _Steady and stiff and stout_

 _Beware the thunder, herald of the of the lighhtning_

 _That could split you in twain, from head to toe_

 _And think not less of me,_

 _who like a reed bends and does not break_

 _for sheltering beneath your lofty boughs_

 _when the storm winds blow_

 _Be it reedy raft or oaken craft_

 _we are both adrift on the sea of fate_

 _when the sails are furled, through the teeth of the wind_

 _I'd imagine both of us might need a first mate._

It was not wonderful, it was not amazing. Draco Malfoy knew he was great at many things, but this was far from his strong suit. Not honesty, or poetry, in truth. He knew what he was good at - lying. But, he'd never been one to back away from a challenge. Sealing the letter, he walked swiftly down, curled in a tatty brown cloak, spattered with mud and stained dark in places. It was the perfect disguise. No one would ever believe it was Malfoy in such scrappy wear.

**Snape is a literate man whose reading spans both worlds. This particular tale got brought up because, surprise surprise, Draco had been jealous. Again. Sadly, the tale didn't seem to have any impact on Draco - though he rather did seem to like the clever fox.

[a/n: Write a review, if you please.]


	25. Gone away, not forgotten

Potter and Weasley were child's play to sneak past - too clumped together and noisy to manage the proper amount of serious contemplation being quiet actually required. Draco Malfoy could hear them as he walked past (a simple slip beside a statue, and a clickety-clock noise of a tossed stone had them looking in the opposite direction for just enough time. His heart beat as he walked by, but he smiled a proper smirk, and enjoyed the careful sneak. Cunning was as subtle does, and it was _always_ Slytherin. He had time to strap the message to a school owl, and whisk off his cloak before the Dynamic Duo showed up. They gaped as they ran in, confused as to why Draco Malfoy was standing there.

 _Idiots._ They wouldn't realize until later that they hadn't seen him come by (his tatty cloak was well shrunk and stored inside a dresspocket).

"Where'd he go?" Harry Potter asked, bottle green eyes blinking confusedly.

"Did you see a bloke in a tatty cloak?" Weasley said, not having stopped to think about why asking Draco Malfoy anything was a bad idea.

"You mean who wasn't you? Can't say that I have, honestly. Though if I did see one, I'm not so certain I'd help you at any rate." Draco Malfoy said with an easy shrug, striding forward with a gait that expected the other two to step aside.

As usual, they failed to take any hint, and at the moment when Draco Malfoy was sure he was going to crash shoulders in with both of them, Harry Potter held up a hand, taking the blow in stride.

"What is it, Potter? I haven't got all day..." Draco Malfoy spat, his hatred shining through his storm gray eyes. Draco Malfoy could see the thoughts turning clearly in Potter's mind, the fleeting thought that it might have been Malfoy sending the letters - and Draco Malfoy fought back a knife-sharp smile at the look in Potter's eye, as Draco's seething hatred cleared any such thoughts out of his mind.

* * *

Hermione opened her mail late, as she looked down at it. "Let me see!" Padma squealed, and the other two girls echoed her laughter.

Hermione carefully passed the missive out, looking at it softly.

"Confucious, of all things..." Padma said with a smile.

"Confucious?" Hermione asked confusedly.

"He wrote that it is better to bend like the reed than stand tall like the oak, which will break in the storm." Padma said. "I told you he was Ravenclaw."

The other two girls laughed at this, and Hermione asked, "Isn't that a Muggle philosopher?"

Padma, pureblooded as she was, nodded and said, "British wizards know about Christianity, at least a little. Indians learn about muggle religions too - just different ones."

Lavender braided Parvati's hair as Hermione began to pepper the other two girls with questions about Muggle religions, swiftly losing herself in the intricacies of Indian religions. By the end, she couldn't distinguish Shiva from Buddha, and yet felt that she had been enormously enriched anyway. That summer, she was going to read more Muggle literature, she promised herself.

[a/n: Write a review? If you're curious as to why _Draco Malfoy_ knows about Confucius, you can straight out blame Severus Snape. He hasn't any moral reason to keep Muggle books away from his House, and at any rate, most Purebloods wouldn't recognize that they _were_ Muggle.]


	26. Knit Picking

Draco had woken with the sun, the first beam striking at his imagination. He bolted out of bed (not leaving until after his hasty shower), and found himself in the dust-filled mists of the early morning in Hogwarts' Library. It was his favorite time of day for a reason - when the world was as quiet as a tomb, and everything seemed to shimmer with new beginnings.

 _Liquid moonlight strums a silvery melody_

 _As I think of you, will you ever dream of me?_

 _It sings of is-not, and might-have-been..._

 _Are you salvation, or are you original sin?_

 _There was a man who stole from the gods_

 _He fell to earth, and landed on faerie sods_

 _A year passed, as if it were a day_

 _And all his cares, they fell away._

 _Woke he then to only screams_

 _For all he loved, were as dead as dreams._

Draco paused in his writing, looking down at Granger's brown mess of a hairstyle. It wouldn't have worked on Patil, and most especially not on Brown. Millie would have made it too bold - but Granger's style had a reckless devil-may-care - I'm not trying - grace, if never touching elegance.

Click-clack.

Draco looked down, peeking confusedly at the mirror that he had set (it only reflected the sun in the earliest of mornings - and when was Scotland not cloudy then?), and seeing Granger - knitting? Draco Malfoy frowned, wondering at what scheme, what monstrous machination would involve the Brain of Gryffindor (there were no others, of course) knitting, of all things.

Draco's eyes scanned the books in front of her, seeing nothing but her books.

Something was up, dangling just outside his reach. He wanted to know, burned with the desire. To simply stick his head over the side, peer down, and say, "Why in blazes are you knitting? Finally decided that Weasley's got to have a new shirt? Or that Potty's got to have at least one tie? I think you could manage a tie, at least." Not that Draco knew the least bit about knitting.

Draco Malfoy settled in, his book tracing the Goblin wars and the subsequent overreactions drawing his attention. He settled in, only looking up as his stomach growled, relieved to see that Granger had already taken off for breakfast.

[a/n: Draco can't leave while Hermione's there, as he doesn't want her to know that he's been there - let alone that he's been watching her.

That poem took a decidedly grim turn.

Three weeks done! Three Weeks Done! Yay!

Write me a review, if you want to know what happens when Harry and Draco reveal some things that were probably better kept secret...]


	27. Peace

_Peace steals over you, your brow unfolding,_

 _Like a thief, ready to whisk your cares away._

 _What Keen burglar, dangling outside your window,_

 _Stuffing troubles and mindings and mishaps in a gurneybag._

 _Your cares are troublesome things, like cats_

 _Clawing their stubborn way out of the sack._

 _Well I know you could drink deep of the gray waters_

 _of Lethe that lap at the shores of the Elysian Fields._

 _Forget every single rope and chain that binds,_

 _every worry, every hope, every pain and every dream._

 _Enveloped by the gray fog of forgetfulness -_

 _O! How you would rage!_

 _Conjuring goals like Merlin conjured light!_

 _Even forgetfulness would not take you without a fight._

Draco Malfoy hadn't seen Hermione Granger for days. It had seemed like longer, he knew, but... for some reason, she wasn't where she normally was. Not in the Great Hall, not in the Library. Not even watching her friends on the Quiddich pitch. He'd have been a dash more worried, but her two copilots seemed to have disappeared too.

Still, she wouldn't miss Morning meal on a Monday, would she? She never had before (and second - year Draco would have hated to admit he knew that!)... And so it was with a sigh of relief that Draco beheld the most amazing, fantastic, hilarious scene he'd ever seen at Hogwarts.

Way better than Snape disarming their posuer of a professor.

Hermione strode into the Great Hall, eyes blazing and almost daring anyone to confront her. Flanking her came her friends, looking both abashed and like they wanted to hide behind Granger (or just jump into the nearest Dumpster. Did Potter not _own_ a comb?). They were all wearing the most atrocious buttons. Mint green and Royal Purple - and they said SPEW. Or, Draco thought, they actually wanted to say, S.P.E.W. ... but, Draco knew just as well as Pansy (who was smirking malevolently) that it was never going to work like that.

The question dug at him, though, what was she up to? Draco Malfoy wanted to compromise, to bend, to ask her, even to demand. Anything so he'd know what was going on.

[a/n: Manic Monday! And yes, Draco should find it hilarious. Are you really surprised that in the middle of enjoying a scene, Draco breaks out to contemplate whether Potter owns a comb? I swear he's not gay (in this stoy)]


	28. A Discovery

Draco Malfoy kicked a stone, as he walked through the chilly dungeons. Well, he had figured out what Hermione and the two Fools were up to.

House Elves.

Of all the cockamamie, twisted, brilliantly brave and utterly stupid ideas! House elves. If Draco Malfoy was talking to those brave fools, he might have had a word or two to say. Not that they'd listen to him, even if he brought truth incarnate and let it's golden rays shine over their heads. No, this wasn't about truth, to them. It was about Right - well, at least to Hermione.

Draco Malfoy was persuaded that her friends had simply decided it was easier to go along with her than try to stop her. Which, considering their intelligence and rhetorical aptitude, was probably the best move. Draco didn't have to like it though.

Typical brash and arrogant Gryffindor. Find Problem, Fix Problem. With Hammer if possible, Sledgehammer if not. Thick-headed idiots.

Skulking in the halls and the library after class had taught Draco one thing - they didn't even have any idea about House elves, so of course they were going to look like idiots. They were looking at Dobby as if he was normal, for Merlin's sake! Dobby was a freak, a sport, the weirdest house elf any house elf living had ever seen.

Or so Draco Malfoy assumed. Certainly the Hogwarts elves considered him a few knocks short of a noggin. Draco didn't want to admit it, but that was probably his father's fault.

On that point, if on no other, they were dead right. House elves did not exist to be used as punching bags. They were loyal, worthy servants, and should be treated as such. Even his father should understand that.

Frowning, Draco nicked a piece of paper from Goyle. He had half an idea to write... At the end of his hastily penned missive, Draco's smile looked downright predatory. Let a Slytherin show you how it's done, he exulted.

 _The Moon's a Harsh Mistress, well I know_

 _Sometimes I want to fly, and thither go._

 _Oft she turns her back to me,_

 _I yearn to look and make her see._

 _So far away, I dare not touch_

 _I swear I love her overmuch._

 _I should turn cold, yes, turn away_

 _Save judgement for another day._

 _When the sun's last ray fades_

 _I dwell amongst inconstant shades._

 _The moon turns full and new again_

 _I stand within the faerie glen._

 _Turn the sky to stone,_

 _And my wings to bone,_

 _I'll fly soft as a bat,_

 _As insignificant as a gnat._

 _I suppose I'm rather good at that._

Draco now had two letters to put in the Owlery. Delivered at distinctly different times, and by different people. Zambini would help, Draco thought with a smirk. There's still a few things I know about him that he doesn't want his lady-friend of the moment to know (particularly since Vane's a bit of a gossip).

[a/n: Yes, you do want to listen to The moon is a harsh mistress. Also, you do want to write me a review. It's Tuesday, storytime! Fourthweek.]


	29. Were I to

Tuesday Morning was madness in the Great Hall. Draco Malfoy discovered this upon entry. In scattered groups, People were crowding around the Daily Prophet, as Draco frowned himself, _I hadn't thought they'd publish it this quickly. Please tell me no one suspects who I am._

At a look from Draco, Blaise shook his head, saying softly, "It's brilliant writing - not that we should be surprised. When it looks that good, any copy's going as soon as its printed." Draco quietly nodded at his friend. "There's more. Snape liked it too - thinks it would make a grand writing assignment."

Draco Malfoy looked up at Blaise, wideeyed with shock that he quickly concealed by shaking his head. "Writing Assignment?" Draco asked quietly, coldly.

"Yes, we're all to write a column. Says it's good training on taking different points of view." Blaise managed to say this with a straight face. Draco shook his head again, hiding a smile. Of course Snape would think that, of course he would. "You'll be helping Vince and Greg, you know." Blaise said nearly cheerfully. Draco muffled a groan (not meaning to hurt his ... companions), even though more work with them was not going to be fun. Particularly since subtleties like, "Chadwick has to have the most arrogant, and slightly wrong views. His house elf, Tiffy, has to seem more genuine, and a bit more optimistic about everything." Draco had chosen the pseudonym with care, Chadwick was old money - far too old to be reading the paper, let alone writing for it. Everyone would know it for the alias that it was. And of course, house elves couldn't (often) write, so that side of it was probably being written by someone else.

It was an extended back and forth treatise on punishment and reward, and the merits of each, turned witty and amusing by the inability of Tiffy to take criticism, and the inability of Chadwick to fail to offer it. And, because it was amusing, it was getting far more notice than Granger's SPEW (seriously. The girl has a brain. Had she completely taken leave of her senses? I'd ask, but wouldn't get a straight response - even if someone that barmy could give a straight response. Certainly Dumbledore doesn't seem capable.)

Granger got his letter late into breakfast, the school owls having to fight with the Daily Prophets' for once. She was too quick on her feet for Potter or Weasel to manage to grab it out of her hands. Still, that gave Draco a thought or two. It wouldn't _hurt_ (much) if it was only safe for the recipient to touch (addressed to Sal. A. Mander, no less!). Granger had often said that it was not polite to snatch other people's mail. She wouldn't mind... much.

Were I to wade in darkness, thick as pitch,

I'd still see your face glowing above with the force of your smile.

 _More like her glare,_ Draco Malfoy thought, continuing to write.

A look from you might set me afire, you know.

There are some things indeed man was not meant to know.

Were I to slide into waters dark and deep as the abyss

I need only think of your fire, for the abysmal tide to desist.

Were I silver-tongued, or a singer, I would ask a boon,

For you to come down with us mere mortals, I would importune.

Fate has given me no sweet words, no silvered voice.

 _No, my hair doesn't count,_ Draco thought wryly. _As if anyone would be persuaded by my hair!_

And without that, I worry I have no choice.

That sooner or late, someone else will turn your head.

And should that happen, I'd rather be dead.

 _Aye, well I know I'm the twisted sort,_ Draco thought with a twisted smile, _I'd far rather she be glaring at me, than looking kindly at anyone else._

[Tuesday! Fourth Week! Waiting for fifth week very, very badly! Still, Potions class is always amusing. Drop me a review!]


	30. Didn't Granger Tell You?

Hermione Granger hurried to Potions with three different ideas, unsure of which two to pick. And there was a good half chance that Malfoy had chosen one of them anyway.

Draco Malfoy waltzed in the door about twenty seconds before it was time to start the class, looking at Granger and heaving a great sigh. "Alright, let's see them."

Before the day could turn into a catfight about porcupine quills and pygmy puff hair (how in the world? Oh, she cited her sources. Nevermind that _everyone_ knew listening to Tattam on Potions was about as bad as listening to Lockhart on Defense), Draco Malfoy simply said, "No, this won't work at all."

Hermione Granger with her best put upon knowitall look on her face, started to say, "But...! It's a simple derivation from..."

Draco Malfoy yawned languidly, saying "I saw your bibliography. Don't use Tattam again, he's utterly useless when he's not a danger to everyone around him."

"Then why is he even in the library?" Hermione Granger squawked.

"You'll find that citing things out of the Restricted Section isn't going to get you very far in Potions, unless you are considerably more diligent than you have been, Miss Granger." Snape said, his sallow visage peering out of the door towards his office.

"Yes, sir." Hermione Granger said stiffly, trying to hide the hurt.

"If you're done arguing, perhaps you have a recipe for me?" Blaise said with a saucy smile, only slightly diluted by spreading it on both Draco and Hermione.

Potter, of course, rushed in at the very last second (or possibly a few seconds later).

"Running, in the potions lab? Potter, that'll be another two detentions and be glad I don't just cut your leg off and save the potions the trouble." Snape said in his purring voice, the venom running just under the surface.

"That makes what? Fifteen detentions?" Potter muttered under his breath.

"Sixteen." Snape snarled.

Potter at this point tried to use his hands and toes to count that high*, before looking up at Snape, "But sir!"

"Another for your cheek. Unless you'd like to make that two?" Snape said, and Potter was, for once, blessedly silent. Snape swept out of the immediate vicinity with that lanky stride of his and a swirl of black robes. Draco (and hopefully everyone else in the room) was well aware that Snape wasn't actually out of listening distance, but was instead allowing them to have a bit of rope to hang themselves. Of course, the point of giving people a little rope was also that they could be a trifle freer about speaking.

"Great, another detention." Potter muttered, looking down and toeing at the ground with his foot. Draco Malfoy couldn't help but smirk at Perfect Potter managing to land another detention, just for counting how many he had (instead of taking Snape's word, which was the smart plan). "Oi! And why are you smirking? It's not like Snape _ever_ gives detentions to Slytherins."

Draco Malfoy's mouth fell open (just slightly, but it was far from urbane. In fact, it left him feeling like a haystack villain**), and he just stared at Potter a moment. His mind snapping into full gear, he spat, "You mean she didn't _tell_ you?" - gesturing vaguely in Granger's direction.

At this, Potter turned to Hermione, giving her a look as if she had been keeping secrets with Malfoy or something.

"We weren't exactly friends at the time, Harry." Hermione Granger said slightly stiffly, as if she didn't like Harry treating her like she might be a Slytherin spy.

"What are you two _talking_ about?" Harry querrled.*** as Blaise smirked in the background, rifling through Granger's notes while everyone else was busy not working.

"So, first year, Granger heard some of us (by which I mean Slytherins, obviously) talking about having Private Potions Lessons." Draco Malfoy said with a surprisingly straight face.

"Naturally, this triggered both Granger's sense of Righteous Indignation that the Slytherins were receiving Unfair Advantage, and her positive lust for knowledge." Draco Malfoy continued. At the word lust, Potter eyed Draco sidelong (a feat that Draco was previously unaware Potter could pull off, particularly when he had been looking at Malfoy straight on just a second ago), trying to decide if this was something he ought to take offense at.

"So, what does the _adorable_ Gryffindor do?" Draco Malfoy said, his sarcasm patently evident in his tone. "Why, she walks right up to Professor Snape and demands Private Potion Lessons." Harry Potter at this point was leaning forward, interested almost despite himself. "Which Snape was only _too_ happy to oblige."

Hermione Granger broke in at this point, with sarcasm worthy of Draco Malfoy himself, "Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be cleaning cauldrons."

Blaise abruptly laughed, "You know you were the talk of the Common Room for months after that?"

Harry Potter, abruptly seeming to remember that Snape might be listening in, said in a low voice, "so you _do_ get detentions."

"Every time." Draco Malfoy said, his arrogance firmly in place. "The rule of Slytherin is _don't get caught_."

Harry Potter actually smirked at that, lacing his hands together behind his back. Hm. Draco Malfoy hadn't been aware that expression was even in Potter's repertoire. "So why, exactly, have you been throwing Potions ingredients in my cauldron for the past two years?"

Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes, and said, "Imagine, explaining _politics_ to a Gryffindor."

"Oh, the horrors!" Blaise agreed, in a tone worthy of Snape himself.

"Well?" Potter demanded.

Crossing his arms, Draco lifted his chin for a second, saying, "What's it to you?"

"Call it curiosity," Granger said, still looking at notes that Blaise hadn't yet filched. "And I'm interested too, for that matter."

With a sigh, Draco said quietly, "Greg and Vince started it, you know? They didn't like you, and wanted to put a shrivelfig in your cauldron."

Harry Potter listened quietly.

"Unlike those louts, I do know that putting a shrivelfig in a Shrinking Solution is likely to be an utter disaster. And as I'd rather pass Potions than worry about my hair falling out from the fumes... well... I said that I'd do something better." Draco Malfoy said, affecting an air of utter unconcern. "There you have it."

Harry Potter gave him a look, a queer sort of half grin on his face, "No, I don't have it. That explains the once," Potter said firmly.

"Oh, then someone," Draco sent a quick, telling sidealong glance at Blaise, "decided you and I were rivals, and everyone expected that we'd be doing things to each other." Draco Malfoy paused for a moment, and said, "Of course, that incident with the Rememberall didn't help."

Draco Malfoy actually looked just a touch peeved, as he said, "Here I got yelled at, shouted at, lectured - and what do you get? Seeker on the Quiddich team." Malfoy paused, and said, "How fair is that?"

"Wait, you actually got yelled at?" Harry Potter said, sounding a great deal more wondering about this relatively normal occurrence than Draco Malfoy thought was warranted.

Draco Malfoy put on his best Snape tone, saying, "What in blazes were you thinking? Such dire misconduct is a discredit to our House. I ought to call your father immediately."

At which point, Snape, naturally, billows in, saying mildly, "One point to Slytherin for accurate mimickry. If you _ever_ use it in the halls to scare the blitzens out of younger students, you _will_ regret it, I assure you."

Harry Potter muffled a snort of amusement, which Snape thankfully didn't feel worth bothering about. "Yes, Professor Snape." Draco Malfoy said attentively.

"Now, get to work." Snape snarled, as he left the room, bootheels clicking on the stone with the force of his steps.

*no, he didn't _really_. Draco's fantasizing.

**villein.

***neologism. Queried and Querulous mixed together.

[a/n: Yeah, we'll get into Harry's reaction a bit more later. For now, leave a review! It's Wonderful Wednesday, and that's Potions Day.

The whole bit about Private Potion Lessons was developed for an entirely different character, who will be entering the story shortly. Can you guess who it is?]


	31. Flamesong

_I realized just today, that I'd never heard you sing_

 _Heard you wrap the world around your voice_

 _And make the whole ruddy world ring._

 _Let the world scream, or nay, let it rejoice,_

 _Firewitch, you'll set the whole world to burn._

 _And maybe at the end of it all, you'll finally learn._

 _Set your hopes on fire, alight with desire,_

 _Set your dreams aflame, can't stop the game._

 _When flame meets flame in fatal clash,_

 _When the whole world's turned to ash._

 _You'll find me there, with aught but wind and a shield._

 _To turn a spark to wildfire, in that desolate field._

Draco Malfoy watched as Hermione Granger snapped the letter off the owl, shutting the book nearly on Weasel's fingers. The poor dullards seemed to still think that sniffing the letters was going to give them an idea of who was sending them. (Draco supposed they'd never done it, themselves, with their own parchment. You had to actually be trying to make it work).

* * *

Hermione Granger wanted nothing more than to scurry off to her room and read the next letter. It wasn't so much that they were good, per se, as that they were for her, and she always enjoyed new reading material. And it was sort of fun, to think that she had a secret admirer. Nevertheless, she did have to eat, and there were classes, and so she bit down on a sigh, as she carefully laid food on her plate.

Harry, however, looked less bothered by the secret admirer mail than he usually did. Instead, he was obsessing over Malfoy's words in class. "Do you think it's true?" Harry asked them quietly.

"Whut? That Snape treats you... what...?" Ron said.

Thoughtfully, Hermione considered carefully, before saying, "I'm not sure what Malfoy stands to gain by lying."

Harry Potter shook his head, "Yeah, but it's Malfoy. Figure he'd lie just for the sake of it?"

"Undoubtedly," Hermione said in her ironclad voice, "But I think he already thought you knew. And I can corroborate that Slytherins do get detentions - I wasn't the only one there you know."

"So, if he's lying, it's carefully crafted." Harry said.

"Yeah, but that still leaves why?" Ron said. "What gain, what reason would Malfoy possibly have to want you to think... that Snape wasn't being an entirely evil bastard?"

Harry gave Ron a wide grin, "Causing me headaches, of course."

Hermione smirked, saying, "Oh, you know what he'd say to that -"

Ron responded (having the better Malfoy drawl), "I have better things to do with my time than develop schemes simply to cause you headaches."

They all laughed, riotously, at the impression.

Harry had a crafty grin on his face, "Ah, but we all know Malfoy's a liar."

Hermione couldn't help but start snickering at that.

Harry leaned forward, and asked softer than a whisper, "Do you believe it though? That Snape's been treating me the same as he might treat his own godson?"

Hermione shook her head, and said, "I'm... not sure. He did save your life, Harry."

The twins, who had been whispering together and seeming not to pay attention at all, looked up at Harry, and very, very quietly nodded. Harry eyed them sharply, as Ron said, "Of course not, Harry, we all know what a mean and nasty bastard Snape is. Surely he wouldn't be that way with his own godson."

"We have seen him shamelessly play favorites in class." Hermione said, pausing a moment to consider, "I wonder what he's like outside of class? With his Slytherins?"

Harry got an amused look on his face, as he said, "To figure that out, you'd have to go to some more Private Potion Lessons."

Hermione crossed her arms, and said snottily, "Absolutely not."

[a/n: Draco just meant that Harry was being treated like any other student. It's all Harry's interpolation that Snape might, maybe?, actually care for him more than the average student. The twins ( _out_ of Ron's hearing) are probably going to have more to say to Harry about this.

Draco, confronted with this entire conversation, would probably say, "I bet you've never ever heard a Slytherin call Snape soft, and Millie has Prof. Sprout wrapped around her little finger. There's a reason he's head of the snakes, mind."

In short, Snape's not nice with anyone, for any reason. He may rather enjoy being a malevolent bastard, but it is a "take no prisoners" sort of deal.]


	32. Lemming

_I am the lemming that ran the other way,_

 _Not towards the deep blue sea,_

 _But stretching towards the sun,_

 _On the high desert plain._

 _I do not know if I will pay._

 _But it's a small price to be free,_

 _As surely your golden smiles beckon,_

 _I am bedazzled, no matter what I may feign._

Draco smiled at the small poem, knowing that Granger would not manage to figure this one out without a lot more clues than he was likely to give. For now, at least. Folding it carefully, he emerged from the silver sheets on his bed, looking at Blaise who was tossing a snitch between his hands. "You're going to have to tell her, you know." Draco Malfoy said sternly.

Blaise let out a loud sigh, "Why me?"

"Because you know what will happen if you don't." Draco Malfoy said, the thin traces of a smile buried beneath a stern frown.

"You can't get someone else to do it?" Blaise said in exasperation.

"You she might listen to. Besides, who else is there? Greg? Vince? I'm not sure I'd listen to them." Draco said with asperity.

"You do have a point there," Blaise said, pondering what to do with a thoughtful hmmm...

"You could do it now you know," Draco said pointedly.

"Where, oh where could she be?" Blaise said, his smug smile tracing just the minimal outline on his face.

"Why, where she always is, of course - at the top of the ivory tower." Draco said shortly.

"Smug in her knowledge that she knows more than us mortals, indeed." Blaise said, his cutting words biting like the north wind. Seeming to recognize that Draco wouldn't leave him alone until he had actually done what he had mostly agreed to, Blaise stood, and walked out the door whistling. To all observers, it would appear that he had decided to go for a jaunty walk.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry Potter was in the Gryffindor Common Room, pacing beside a couch where Hermione was reading. "I can get through this," he muttered to himself, "It's just another bloody detention." He paced back and forth with a suppressed freneticness that Hermione thought was actually worse to be around than him on a broom, racing circles around her on top of the stands (as he had done one day last year).

"Harry Potter, what exactly is wrong?" Hermione Granger said sternly, having finally had enough of his impatience.

"Another bloody detention. I'm starting to wonder if there's going to be a week when I don't have one." Harry Potter said.

"Well, if you hadn't-" Hermione started primly

Harry barged in, saying, "Hermione - don't." He flung his arms around, and said, "I know I have to go, I just really, really don't want to." Harry paused for a moment, letting the unasked question rest in the air. "I want to fly. I want to be outside. I want to be doing _anything_ other than being in the potions classroom cleaning cauldrons again."

Hermione looked up, and pursed her lips. "You could-" she said, suddenly shutting her book with a snap. "Barter, I think."

"Barter? With Snape?" Harry asked, perplexed. It didn't seem like such a thing would be doable, even if everything Malfoy had said was true.

"Yes. If you portray it as a proposal, he may take it better. Double the time, for collecting potions ingredients, say, rather than cleaning cauldrons."

Harry's eyes seemed to light up at the suggestion, "Because you know he doesn't really need the cauldrons cleaned..."

Hermione's brown eyes glinted a warning, as she said, "Be careful, I have the feeling that Professor Snape is a rather hard bargainer."

Harry, thrilled, gave her a warm hug, saying grandly, "Oh, it doesn't matter. I just don't want to be there one more day."

Hermione was actively surprised, as Harry flew down towards his detention. Then she had a strange thought - what would Professor Snape think, of Harry Potter arriving on time. The thought of the look on his stern face was enough to send her into peals of laughter.

[a/n: Anyone know what Draco and Blaise are planning? Sometimes Slytherins outthink themselves, but in this case, they're rather outthinking someone else...

Does Harry actually get to complete a bargain with Snape? Or is Snape just that much of a bastard to not bestir himself even when it would be for his own good?

Leave a review! Thursday it is!]


	33. Rose

Today I sat up high

Just me and the sky,

And it was all that I could do

To think, to dream of you.

Embers glinting, firelight flickering

Shadows flowing, constantly whispering

A daydream that dissolves under the weight of the sun

I'd run the world for you, until the last day is done

Look at me, I dream the impossible

I dare to hope, it's merely implausible.

Hope is a fleeting friend, fickle and fey

Oh, what will I do when you've gone away?

Draco sealed the letter with a smile, addressing it to Sal. He'd actually been surprised that the Golden Boys hadn't bothered to ask about that. Maybe they had and he'd missed it. Well, today the scent was rose, which was tremendously common - in fact, nearly every girl he knew used it. That might have been because of Zambini - he had made it known this year that he preferred it, and a good deal of the girls were simply drooling over him in a way that was quite unmannerly. Not to mention distasteful. There was a reason Draco Malfoy made himself out to be a jerk - it was to avoid having to deal with the female set that was convinced that batting eyelashes could make them a fortune. Specifically, the Malfoy fortune. Draco had turned taking girls apart into high art. It was truly because of Connor, over in Ravenclaw - he'd been the one to bring in the Rose scent, and the one to make most of the money off it. Blaise just liked the ego-stroking he got when all the girls would do something just because he'd hinted to one of them that he liked it.

As all the girls were wearing it, this promised to be quite amusing. And it was a Hogsmeade weekend too - so much the better.

[a/n: And Friday! The recap will come on monday, of exactly what's happened at Hogsmeade. Draco may like Hermione, but he definitely likes playing with her friends just like a cat might. Write a review!]


	34. To fly for you

_Chasing the sun_

 _To the back of beyond_

 _Until forever comes,_

 _and then a step beyond._

 _Taking a flying leap off a tow'ring cliff on rays of orange and gold_

 _Nobody has to tell me I don't know what the future's got to hold_

 _All I know is what I see_

 _Large and small,_

 _Like you and me._

 _I could find a tree, just as tall_

 _Stretch out my arms into your warmth._

 _And maybe I wouldn't notice when I began to fall._

Draco smiled to himself, the notes of his poetry fairly singing in his head, as he watched the letter he had written being delivered to Sal. Not that she would read it - practical, that, when she was surrounded by the every nosy Dynamic Duo (Did they really want to be called Golden? Perhaps he could change it to Brazen... pity they weren't in Ravenclaw, then the name would actually suit the colors as well).

Draco kept a weather eye to all the tables (including the High Table), as he remembered the weekend. Weasel and Potty had seen fit to scare half the Hufflepuffs with their persistent questioning (and a few ornery Hufflepuff boys had shown up to remind them that they were third years, and if a seventh year Hufflepuff said something, they were to _take them at their word_.)

Oh, but if that wasn't enough, then they had tried to take on the Gryffindors. Alicia hadn't taken the idea well - that she'd be so cowardly (and wasn't she with one of the Weasel twins?) as to not tell Hermione. The younger girls had been even odder, though, throwing themselves on Potter (just one on Weasel), saying that he needn't be jealous, that she only had eyes for him. Overall, it was hilarious, and virtually guaranteed that the boys would be hiding out someplace other than their common room to plan their next move.

The Ravenclaws had simply answered precisely, "No." for the most part, although Luna Lovegood hadn't seemed like she wanted to answer at all - instead coercing the two boys into playing a game with thistledown (how she managed that, with the brisk breeze blowing, was quite the mystery. Draco was full up, but maybe he'd see if Theo wanted something to do other than being a bookie).

And the Slytherins? Well, quite a few had simply ignored the Gang That Didn't Take No For An Answer - which led to them scurrying after girls as if they were footmen or something. Millie had looked at them both, oozed her way over (quite a feat considering her bulk), and laid one innocent forefinger on each of their shoulders, saying, "And what if I did?" Well, she had both of them blushing, and she gave a girlish giggle, and said, "Of course not! You really" (emphasis on the rolled r) "Think I'm that much of a coward?" And then she planted a kiss on both of their lips, giggling loudly as they both fled in sheer horror at the idea that she might be interested in them. Mill's double their size, and like most boys, they're the type to want a girl that's shorter - or at least more demure - than Mills. (We called her Mills because Pansy had made a crack first week of first year about her being big enough for two girls, and Millie had said, 'then you can call me Mills!' The name had stuck, and it suited her well - bold and brassy).

Pansy had a look of utmost disgust as she looked down her nose at the two boys, saying coldly, "As if!" And she turned her nose in the air and walked away.

Believe it or not, among the Slytherins, that was one of the nicer responses. Magda had given them a cold half-smile, and then turned to her boyfriend and said, "These bastards are calling me a two-timing cheat." Draco was fairly certain (from the glare directed at the Gryffs from the Ravenclaw table) that her boyfriend was still out for blood. A few girls the Gryffs couldn't get near enough to ask (their boyfriends were the jealous type. Slytherins considered jealousy to be ego affirming, it was quite a sought after quality.)

[a/n: Leave a review if you want another chapter! Draco has finally convinced me to change the script a bit, so previous author's notes may be disregarded at will.]


	35. From these letters I write

_From these letters I write, you may surmise_

 _That I am a coward born, and a liar bred._

 _Truth is my constant companion and yet-_

 _Sometimes it slides through my fingers like water._

 _I bring you a truth, wrapped in silken thread._

 _You make me want to be a better person than I am._

 _A difficult truth, that. For I have my flaws,_

 _In them, a wise person sees strength._

 _Transformation, transfiguration -_

 _Shattering the chrysalis that hides me._

 _It is the smart move, although_

 _Not necessarily the wise one._

Draco smiled a toothy smile at the letter, as he folded it and sealed it. A coward born - Draco didn't know really whether he was brave or a coward. Untested, he thought, green as the newsprung grass.

He put the essence of sandalwood on the letter, smirking at the perfect picture of Potty and Weasel sniffing that singular scent. Draco would bet they didn't even know who used that scent. So much the better. An amuse bouche, watching the Gryffindors hunt. At times, it almost seemed refreshing - their innocence, and their blind certainty that they could catch who was writing the letters.

Draco moved through the castle like an errant gust of wind, to and fro, dancing through passageways and meandering purposefully upstairs. It was a style of movement designed to throw off tails, or - if they were exceptionally clever - to catch them in the act. Draco was up early anyway, the extra time was merely good exercise to build an appetite before breakfast.

Entering the Owlry, Draco found the first school owl he could find - but chose in the end the fourth, giving it an owl treat (of utmost quality, Draco never saw the need to have shoddy things) and the letter both.

On Draco's way down to the Great Hall (He was still early), he felt an odd tug of wind, as if the wind, ever playful, had decided to tug on his sleeve. Whimsically - almost - Draco followed it (as he was running early anyway, it would hardly matter). Up and down the steps it led, and Draco was intrigued - his mind turning to whether this was natural or magical... The slight tug - the wind on his hair, giving his back a slight push - led towards a shadowy alcove.

Eyes alight, Draco stepped into the near-darkness.

"Ah, Draco, there you are." Luna Lovegood proclaimed. "I was wondering when you'd appear."

Of all the myriad explanations Draco Malfoy had had, a student - a Ravenclaw student - Looney Luna Lovegood was _not_ one of them. Draco Malfoy looked at her expressionessly, though managing to convey an openness that said _I'm listening_.

"I know your secret." Luna Lovegood said, with an appalling (yet, somehow expected) lack of tact.

His mind scrambling through options, Draco parried, scoffing, "Well, Miss Lovegood, you know my deepest, darkest secret. Congratulations." Draco managed a dark leer, his eyes pretending to drift downwards on her body (Draco let his eyelids close halfway, allowing him to maintain vision on her face).

Luna responded with silvery laughter, her head tilted upward as if she hadn't a care for the young Malfoy doing something while her eyes weren't watching him. After a moment, Lovegood lowered her head, giving Draco Malfoy a glimpse of serious blue eyes. "No, I hardly think knowing your darkest secret would make me want to talk with you. It's probably something simply dreadful, isn't it?"

Draco Malfoy smirked at her, neither confirming or denying. Subtly, he pulled his wand into his hand, keeping the entire process (and his hand) hidden behind a fold of his robe. It had taken days of practice to get the move right, Draco Malfoy remembered with something approaching chagrin at how often he'd complained about it being impossible (as opposed to 'it's not quite working').

"I know the secret you hold closest to your heart," Luna Lovegood said with a thin smile, her actinic eyes filled with the cold emptiness of space. They pierced through the blackness of his robe, as she said, "The secret you'd kill to protect."

Draco Malfoy had to stop himself from flinching. Luna... was right. Not that Draco had known that before she'd said it - he was entirely thinking about damage control, and that meant memory modification, or (less capably) possibly some sort of bind that would prevent her from telling. "Do you now." Draco said flatly, as Luna's eyes narrowed - Draco could practically see the words _He's taking me seriously now_ painted on Luna's expressive face. "What do you want?" Draco asked calmly, because Malfoys were trained to always be calm, even (or perhaps especially) when a peer was discussing blackmail and expensive terms.

And then Luna Lovegood said something that Draco Malfoy had never expected to hear - not from her, not from anyone, really. "I want us to be friends." She said straightly, with an almost Gryffindor 'blunt force applied to the truth' manner.

Draco Malfoy just looked at her, his expression blank - behind it, he scrambled, trying to come up with exactly what this play even was. Draco hated to be caught so flatfooted, but such a baldfaced lie wasn't a Slytherin's forte.

"Don't Slytherins become friends by sharing secrets?" Luna Lovegood said almost carelessly, with an effortless nonchalance that entirely belied what Draco Malfoy knew she knew he'd been thinking about. Not _killing_ her (the situation wasn't nearly that dire)- but memory modification was serious business.

"Yesss..." Draco Malfoy drawled, saying slowly, "That implies you have a secret of equal value, Ravenclaw." He straightened, managing to almost look haughty - as if he wasn't _dying_ to hear what _Luna Lovegood_ would consider a secret of dire import. Because Draco Malfoy remembered this one. She'd been the talk of the Slytherin Common Room for an entire week as a _first year_. It had taken a bit of bribery, and more than one solid application of his silver tongue, for Draco to get the entire story - this was the girl who had convinced Severus Snape to give her private Potions Lessons. According to his godfather (who had actually seemed a dash abashed to admit it), the slip of a Ravenclaw girl had devised a potion that would scrub all the cauldrons in less than a minute - and she promised Severus Snape that she'd give it to all the students, unless he could see his way to giving her some Private Lessons in the art of Potion-Making. Draco Malfoy had noticed Snape's eyes sharpening with a healthy respect for the young student - and so it wasn't all that surprising that Snape had agreed. For all he could be impossible sometimes, he liked to reward exceptionally clever students.

"I do." Luna Lovegood said baldly, "A secret that I'd kill to protect."

Draco Malfoy looked around them, noticing for the first time the air of quietude that the alcove possessed. "Silencing spell?" Draco rapped.

Luna nodded. "A moment then," Draco Malfoy said, casting a few more spells to keep the peace - one that would discourage strays from stumbling in.

"All these magical creatues that I love to talk of?" Luna Lovegood said, "They're all real."

Draco Malfoy's eyes widened a miniscule fraction, "But you made them up." he said, his voice reeking of certainty.

Luna Lovegood suddenly wore a smile that Draco Malfoy knew very well - it was the smile of someone with a particularly delicious secret. "That doesn't mean that they aren't real."

Draco Malfoy looked at her, at the girl who must have liked to be discarded, ignored, considered worthless. At the slip of a girl who suddenly sounded like she had depths that Draco Malfoy couldn't think of a Slytherin student that had. "Explain." Draco Malfoy said.

"Once there was a small girl who liked to tell stories. She'd devise all sorts of imaginary creatures, often invisible." Luna Lovegood stopped and looked directly at Draco Malfoy, "Unlike most little girls, someone was listening. It turns out that sylphs like the stories that I tell."

Draco's response was a low whistle. Sylphs, air elementals, were rare as hen's teeth - and attracting them by telling them stories? Yet, Draco Malfoy could hear that there was a missing piece of the puzzle, as his grey eyes locked on Luna's actinic blues again.

"It turns out that sylphs also like to play pretend." Luna Lovegood said. "I don't think you've been formally introduced."

Draco Malfoy found himself struggling to hold back an oath, as a crumple-horned snorkack manifested on top of his shoulders, resting most of it's weight on the floor. It was nearly as tall as he was.

"This is Jerome." Luna Lovegood said as if it was perfectly usual to have 'able to manifest on command' creatures at ones disposal. "You may meet the rest of them later, if you like."

Draco Malfoy managed a strangled chuckle, "I imagine it would be pretty crowded with them all here."

Luna Lovegood nodded, saying, "So, Friends?"

Draco blinked at her bluntness, still half suspecting it was a trap (but if so, he now had enough on her to completely wreck the illusion she had deliberately spun at school). "What exactly do you want out of friendship?"

Luna Lovegood said, "Well, ordinarily, I'd say I want what you want - but I doubt you've given the matter much thought, have you?" Those piercing blue eyes seemed to tear Draco Malfoy's heart out, weigh and measure it precisely, and then put it back inside him in moments. "A different perspective. Aid when necessary -" Draco Malfoy frowned at that one, "And as prudent, naturally."

"You're right that this is how Slytherins forge alliances," Draco Malfoy began, "but you're hopeless at being subtle." Draco Malfoy's mouth wrinkled with a bit-back smile.

"Who better to learn from than a Slytherin?" Luna Lovegood said, and Draco Malfoy smiled the first true smile that he'd worn outside of Malfoy Manor in he-couldn't-remember-how-long.

"Friends then." Draco Malfoy said, still grinning.

"I think I'll call you my invisible dragon." Luna Lovegood said.

"Pardon?" Draco Malfoy said in a bit of confusion (Draco Malfoy thought that was likely to be a state he'd get used to, being friends with this particular Ravenclaw).

"Oh, it's a code name." Luna Lovegood said, "Because you aren't anything like what you pretend to be." At Draco's mouth starting to move, Luna interrupted like a assassin wielding a stiletto into someone's side - the same studied nonchalance. "I'm not either, you know."

"I'm beginning to figure that one out, thanks." Draco Malfoy said with some chagrin. "What should I call you?"

"Di." Luna said, "You can call me Di - it's short for Diana, you know."

"The goddess of the moon," Draco Malfoy said nodding.

"And you know it'll drive Blaise crazy trying to figure out who I am." Luna said with an amused smile, and Draco responded with one of his own.

[a/n: Finally, finally, finally! Luna appears! This is one of those chapters that got me wanting to write this.

Apologies for slowness, writing the poetry for this story is HARD. I want it to be at least decent, even if Draco is rubbish at this whole romance business.

More reviews mean more motivation for me to write. So review early and often!]


	36. Adrift on the sea of fate

Standing on a bridge as both sides burn,

Torn, I stand twisting in the wind.

Nothing to reach, nowhere to turn.

There's Something I'm missing, that I hope to find.

Maybe you can help me call it to mind.

As the clepsydra drains,

As even the darkness fades,

Your inconstant smile draws me back,

Like water to the drowning man

I know I stand here on the wrong track,

Take the world by storm, by fire, by lightning itself

But whatever you do, don't just sit on the shelf.

Another poem, Draco thought, sealing it and leaving it by Zambini's bed with a knut. He knew that Zambini would do as asked - favors were both given and taken in Slytherin House, and roommates had enough favors criss-crossed that they were nearly family by the time they graduated. That was how it had always been. Draco Malfoy had taken favors enough from Crabbe and Goyle, and he'd repay them, in his own time. They, in turn, had respectfully asked favors of him. Occasionally.

* * *

It was breakfast, and the Gryffindor boys were at the Steal Granger's Mail game again, no matter how uncouth, or plain churlish it looked. Draco's face was entirely impassive - his eyes trained on a nasty Ravenclaw breakup that he knew both parties would regret doing in the middle of the Great Hall during Breakfast. Once they stopped being so angry they could drive dragons off their eggs, that is. Intelligence like that was priceless, so Draco Malfoy paid it close attention, even as - out of the corner of his eye - with only a corner of his mind, he watched the Gryffs. They were wildly speculating (he had missed them sniffing the envelope, but that was no matter), Weasel and Potty's hands gesticulating.

Oh, how Draco Malfoy despised them. Even the youngest Slytherin would have noticed the trap - and a Hufflepuff would have asked "Why did the scent change?" But the Gryffs? They were feckless, pummeling right down the nearly vertical slope, as if off a nasty cliff, heedless of the near-certainty that they'd break their fool necks.

Draco Malfoy gave them three days. Friday, that would make it. Draco would be watching.

[a/n: Draco is having entirely too much fun for a lovesick boy. Leave a review folks, we still have Potions before the end of the day. Have you figured out why he used sandalwood yet?]


	37. The paper

Draco Malfoy looked at the paper, before discretely coverning exactly what he was reading (Merlin help him if anyone noticed he was reading anything about house elves!) with a deliberate spread of Quiddich scores. Pansy had outdone herself this time, Draco thought with a straight face, though inside he was grinning. Her article was a work of genius. There was the first level, on which the avuncular raconteur relayed his wife's experience in a fitting room. Although she could not see the back of her dress, she was convinced that it needed to be pulled down another three inches - her house elf (with a proper view of her backside), felt otherwise, but of course she refused to listen. The story ended with public ridicule and the punishment of the house elf for something that wasn't really her fault. Pansy had ended the tale with a "Shouldn't the one responsible be punished? Or does that just add to the ridiculousness of the event?"

Draco _loved_ Pansy's sense of humor. It was a naked appeal to people's high esteem of themselves, that they should recognize their own errors and not blame the people who tried to help them. There might even have been a small, indirect "listen to those who have a better vantage than you, they offer their unique insights."

The second level, of course, was to actively coerce Purebloods into empathizing with a house elf. Who hadn't, at one point or another, tried to tell someone too proud to take advice? And the kisser on that was the punishment at the end - actively ridiculing those (like Draco's own father last year) who had punished someone who did not deserve it. _We all know what you're trying to do, and it doesn't work._ was the comment, and it was brilliant, sparkling with the light of dozens of emeralds.

The third level was written for Pansy's own amusement, and her few select friends (her father had long forbidden her discussion of anything remotely consequential, so it was her habit and custom to speak in code). It was a discussion of Continental borders, disguised as a discussion of hemlines. It said a lot about France's unwillingness to listen to Belgium's wise counsel during the Napoleonic era, and counseled that the smaller states might put a premium on safety rather than tactical superiority.

Truly, it was a masterwork.

Draco finished the last of his toast, and started to fold up the paper, when, across from him, Crabbe and Goyle started 'reminiscing.' Compelled to chime in, Draco did so with well-practiced (and faked) good humor, ending the entire conversation shortly with a "What do you say we take on Potty later today? Show him what a disrespectful bastard he is." Greg and Vince nodded enthusiastically, and Draco Malfoy left the room with short, sharp strides. His mind was scrambling for what exactly to do - what exactly to say. Because, after all, the threats were going to be the easy, predictable part. _**Predictable**! That was it_ , Draco thought with an inward grin. _Let's roll with that!_

* * *

At lunchtime (his morning classes being uneventful, save for Granger looking a bit more helter-skelter, which also seemed to be normalizing. every day, another quarter inch more frazzled). As he came in, he saw Luna Lovegood sitting at the Gryffindor table. She was announcing, to the table at large, "Yesterday, I made friends with an invisible dragon."

Granger sighed, responding as if she'd said this same thing multiple times (maybe she had), "Luna, Dragons don't turn invisible."

"Well, this one was." Luna said airly.

[a/n: everyone wants to do something with the Slytherin boys. Well, Pansy's a good deal brighter than she lets on. Leave a review, it's still Wednesday.]


	38. After Charms and Before Dinner

Draco Malfoy had laid his ambush, as he always laid his ambush. He knew exactly how the Gryffindors exited the Charms classroom (predictably, to the right*). And he knew when his godfather would be climbing the stairs, intent on his daily debate with the head of Gryffindor House. Well, he called it a debate. Draco was pretty sure that McGonagall thought of it more as a battle, judging from her raised voice by the end of the meeting.

"Well, if it isn't Potty, Weasel, and the Mudblood." Draco started in as he stepped around the corner, Vince and Greg following with matching grins. Draco didn't particularly like the way his stomach twisted at what he'd just said (remembering Hermione Granger crying when he'd first called her that was getting harder, not easier, to remember, and it made him feel shame. which wasn't an emotion he felt often, and one he didn't want to feel ever again), but he supposed there was no helping it.

Harry Potter shot Draco Malfoy a look of disdain, mixed with a dash of... was that _betrayal?_ Oh, come on! Potter, being friendly with Slytherins is going to get you snakebit, don't you know that? Draco Malfoy thought dryly. Through gritted teeth, Harry said, "What do you _want_ , Malfoy?"

"Oh, we all know I needn't want for anything." Draco Malfoy quipped lightly, "Unlike Weasel there. Is that your brother's handmedown wand, or your father's?"

"It's my wand! Paid for fair and square..." Ron said, turning a delightful shade of purple.

"Riiiight" Draco Malfoy said, "And I'd believe you because...?"

"Ron, Stop it." Hermione said curtly. That was another thing Draco liked about her - she didn't plead. She spoke, and expected people around her to listen. And, in her voice, those sounded suspiciously like battle orders.

"Oh, listen to the little know-it-all Mudblood." Draco Malfoy started in, his voice weaving like a mongoose around a deadly cobra. "Thinks she's all that when she hasn't even got a ward to her name."

Hermione Granger simply tilted her nose up, and sniffed at him. It was almost like she knew exactly the quickest way to aggravate him! Not that he'd let her know about that, of course.

"Malfoy, enough." Potter said, his wand poking out of a sleeve. Not good enough, Draco thought idly.

"What would your Gryffindor parents think of you, standing here like a Hufflepuff, too cowardly to even teach me to mind my words?" Draco Malfoy said softly, "I think they'd be ashamed." Oh, Draco knew it was a lie, and a fat and juicy one at that. But Potter was too full of himself to notice.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Potter pulled his wand (as did Weasel, far less of a threat).

Two.

One.

"WHAT is going on here?" Snape thundered, coming upon the three Gryffindors facing down... Draco Malfoy (his goons having left at the strategically agreed upon time, and currently snickering in an alcove three paces away from the lot).

[a/n: And so it goes. Up next it's wednesday, and that means Potions Lessons. See Draco Insult, See Potter Fume. Now see what fuming is like in a potions lesson. Dangerous, wouldn't you say?

Leave a review!]

*Sorry for the americanism. dealwithit. brits don't generally turn to the left.


	39. What gives?

Severus Snape wasn't going to miss this potions class if the world was ending. Well, it would mean his hide if either of the two Precious Brats managed to incinerate, explode or otherwise liquefy the other, so it was a good thing the world wasn't ending - Dumbledore would probably insist that Snape stay here to supervise. As in: "If we fix this, we're still going to need those brats, so make sure they don't do something mind-bogglingly stupid."

And so Severus Snape sat, mindlessly grading papers, and heard Harry Potter arriving early. And without Granger, who might have managed a bit of moderating influence. That boded poorly. If only Potter was the type to remember that Snape liked to sit behind the door... listening (It wasn't spying, after all, when it was _his own class_ ).

As the door opened, and Granger and Zambini stepped inside (both talking to one another on the proper uses of lacewings), Snape let out a silent sigh. The more witnesses - the more moderation, the less likely that Potter and Malfoy would silently strangle each other without Snape being any the wiser. Not that it was likely in the first place. Blaise Zambini had a delightfully mocking sense of humor, and that would turn favorable here. And Granger, while generally humorless, was skilled at the art of Making Potter Obey. Snape had often thought her too skilled at this legerdemain, but on this one occasion, he was glad of it.

Draco Malfoy sauntered in with less than thirty seconds to spare, and Snape didn't need to see him to know he was smugly grinning. No, Potter's voice took care of that for him, all the rage and fury of a two year old's tantrum compressed into two words, "What gives?" Potter spat at Malfoy (and from the tone, he'd hauled the fineboned boy up by his robes).

[a/n: next chapter is from Draco's perspective. Though it's helpful for the reader to know that Snape, as always, is fretfully outside the door, this'll be way more fun from Draco's view.

Do leave a review.]


	40. Balancing Act

Draco Malfoy seemed to idle, turning unhurriedly towards Potter, almost careless of the Gryffindor's mounting rage. All an illusion of course, and Blaise knew him well enough to feel his actual tension, buried beneath yards of black wool and years of training. "You know what your problem is, Potter?" Draco Malfoy said, tipping his hand just slightly by using Potty's proper name. He didn't think even Blaise would notice, though.

"What?" Harry Potter growled, his teeth clearly on edge. He really should learn to calm down, Draco Malfoy thought, he's going to self-immolate if he keeps up this internalized rage.

"You're _boring_. Entirely too predictable. Really, not a challenge at all." Draco Malfoy drawled, using his normal speech patterns to paint a picture of disinterest.

"What are you on about?" Harry Potter said.

"I can insult you the entire day, can't I, Scarhead?" Draco said, jutting his jaw out just so.

Harry Potter rolled his eyes, looking at Draco without saying a word, his anger nearly manifesting as flames shooting out of those green rimmed orbs.

"But - let me say one word, just one word, against a friend of yours, and you lose it. Completely." Draco Malfoy said, ploughing deliberately over whatever nonsense Potter was about to say, "Allow me to demonstrate -" his eyes flashed, cutting across Potter's as if steel across flint - striking sparks.

"I don't see - " Potter got out, before Blaise touched a hand gently to his arm. Potter looked at Blaise in some confusion, as Blaise simply shook his head, mouthing the word "Watch."

Draco Malfoy approached Hermione Granger, who was currently pretending to study her potion recipes. Draco could easily tell that she was just pretending - she was so tense her hands nearly shook. "Hey, Mudblood. Tell me, who wrote those for you?" Hermione didn't so much as look up. In fact, she sat like stone, as if she didn't care a whit.

Draco Malfoy rounded on Potter, his smirk widening into a genuine smile. "Tell me, Potter - if she doesn't care, why are you sticking up for her?"

Harry Potter shook his head, growling and nearly spitting, "Because she does care. Because you're doing it to hurt her, and I don't like it."

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and said, "Granger!" Then he whirled away from Potter, squatting down in front of Hermione Granger, and continued the catcalling, "Granger! Granger! Granger!"

"Will you stop it!" Hermione Granger huffed, exasperated.

Draco Malfoy stood, whirling to look at Potter. "Why haven't you punched me yet? That's more reaction than I've gotten from her in days of insults."

Hermione, still looking down at her papers, said unflappedly, "Draco Malfoy, you are a despicable piece of slime."

Blaise Zambini, never one to back away from starting a war between other people, did the most childish thing that Draco could think of, saying "OoooOOhhh."

Draco Malfoy simply looked at Potter, smirking, "Caring what someone thinks about you takes some element of respect for them."

"So, you're saying I respect you?" Harry Potter said, his hands curling into fists.

"More than Granger does, apparently." Malfoy said, smirking.

Harry Potter blinked, and then started to pace, up and down the classroom. Draco Malfoy relaxed against the wall, content to let Potter's massively unused brain work up a sweat. "You've just been using those words to rile me up?"

"Very good." Draco Malfoy snarled, his hands clapping mockingly. "But, amazingly, you keep falling for it."

"So, you don't really mean it?" Harry Potter asked, "Why'd you decide to do it today, then? You've held off all year."

"Getting a bit rusty, then, aren't I?" Draco Malfoy asked rhetorically.

Blaise drawled, "Either that or those clods you call friends decided that seeing Potter get a detention would be a fun old hobby to indulge in again." Draco Malfoy simply shrugged. It was the truth, anyhow.

"I still don't like you." Harry Potter growled, ignoring Blaise's comment entirely, like the prattish fool that he was.

"I know, Potter, I know." Draco smirked with glee. Mission accomplished.

[a/n: can you guess what Draco's mission was? Other than not getting immolated or punched in the face (the later would be humiliating!).

Leave a review, Wednesday is over...]


	41. Mister Malfoy

Draco Malfoy was piling his books in his bag (Potter having escaped quickly after having thrown Malfoy one last vile and nearly violent glare). "Mister Malfoy." his godfather said in his trademark sneer. "If you will stay behind, for a moment."

"Yes sir." Draco responded promptly to the not-quite-order.

Snape strode over to the door, and shut it on Zambini's face (Granger was clearly dawdling to hear, as well) - they were both _fools_. If Snape wanted quiet, he would have quiet.

"What lessons have you learned from today?" Snape drawled at his godson.

"First, that balancing acts with words are tricky enough that I need more experience at them, and quickly." Draco Malfoy said promptly.

"And?" Snape prompted.

"Potter knows how to think - he's not so bad at it, really. It's knowing how to feel that causes issues." Draco said with a wicked smile.

"If you were the one training Harry Potter, what would you do?"

"Throw him and me into Quidditch until we're both ready to drop. Then do it again until he Stops Caring So Bloody Much."

"Language." Snape reprimanded quietly.

"Sorry sir." Draco said.

"What future changes can we expect from your behavior tonight?"

"More questions, sir - and more work towards proving the answers."

"Will this, by some chance, involve more pretense in the hallways?"

"No way around that, sir. Too many eyes mean too many questions."

Snape nodded, and said, "You are excused. Thirty lines on your language due before first class tomorrow." Draco wasn't really surprised.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was already in the Headmaster's office, Snape noted with a worldweary sigh. "What are you going to do about the young Malfoy, Severus?" she snapped, trying for a disapproving tone of an elder teacher, but failing mostly due to aggravation.

"What I do for any of my Slytherins." Snape said smoothly, with only a trace of reproof for Minerva's willingness to let Gryffs find their own path. "Guide them, steer them out of trouble, and prevent them from breaking on the shoals."

"Has Mister Malfoy learned his lesson from today? To stop GOADING Mister Potter?" Minerva nearly shrieked.

"He has learned a number of lessons tonight, Minerva." Snape said, pausing. "Mister Potter and Malfoy interacted through a four hour Potions Class with non-existent supervision. and, wonder of all wonders, Nobody Died."

"So he'll stop picking fights?" Minerva said, Dumbledore eyeing both of them sharply.

"Of course not," Snape drawled, "That would be counterproductive."

"WHAT?" Minerva screeched, having finally lost any semblance of composure.

"When a storm comes, you point the boat towards the waves, splitting them with the prow. Otherwise, the entire ship sinks." Snape said.

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Minerva said sharply, her voice receeding to normal composure.

"The storm's brewing, and I'm trying to prevent it from smashing every single one of us to pieces, or pushing us onto sandbars." Snape said, pausing.

Dumbledore interrupted, before Severus' rather extended analogy succeeded in getting under Minerva's skin. "I'm sure you can ask Mister Malfoy to restrain himself."

Snape responded noncomittally, "He knows what the consequences are, Headmaster."

"Not much from you!" Minerva snapped back.

"Then you both know what to do about your wayward students." Dumbledore said with a cheery smile, that he knew Snape hated on principle, and Minerva loathed when she thought it patronizing, which in this case it certainly was.

Severus strode towards the dungeons, with almost a skip in his stride. Today had been a good day.

[a/n: What? You thought Snape was going to chew Draco out? Lessons are important.]


	42. A thousand shards of rainbow light

Draco looked around his bed, trying to think up a poem to write. It was unholily early in the morning, but Draco knew he wasn't getting back to sleep. Something had slithered out of his subconscious, and he wasn't ready, willing, or most importantly, able to get back to sleep.

 _You have the golden rays of the sun about you,_

 _and I a mere colorless crystal,_

 _Until you came, and shone on me,_

 _Splitting light into a thousand rainbow shards._

 _Without you, I am but clear glass._

 _Small, silent, unnoticeable - breakable still._

 _With you I spin, lighting the world in multihued light._

 _Let's paint this black-and-white world_

 _All the possible colors of the rainbow_

 _And as we paint, dream impossible dreams_

 _Of hues this world will never know._

Draco was on time for sending his message off - through a convoluted series of people, each of which only knew the next person in line. It could unravel, but it would take having seven different Slytherins (two of which were obscenely wealthy) be persuaded to tell... a little secret. And that, it could be said, was that. Because Slytherins guarded their secrets, no matter how small - Snape was quite clear about how often puzzles were pieced together out of things less remarkable than a secret.

At breakfast, Draco listened to the Gryffindors essentially talk over and around Luna - until the mail came. Draco knew the very instant that Potter connected the - seriously, deliberately easy to read - dots. Weasel and Potty weren't at all subtle about it, hissing in each other's ears. Still, they hadn't been fool enough to actually talk with Hermione at least.

And that was good, because Draco wanted _front row seats_ to these fireworks.

[a/n: Draco isn't exactly the dictionary definition of nice, no. Leave a review? After classes, he's going to see about listening in.]


	43. A Mouse in the Wall

Hiding. Draco Malfoy was hiding. This was a skill that all Slytherins were expected to learn, though few of them tried to do the decidedly unsubtle "hiding in an alcove" that Draco Malfoy was currently pursuing. Still, this afforded him a great view of the entrance to Snape's office, and an even better ... "view" for listening in on Professor Snape's office.

That was the trick, of course. Listening in without betraying himself. Diving like a swordfish through the wards, sliding like an eel between them.

Today, Draco Malfoy was game to try. It was only Potter (and probably not Weasel, coward that he was, despite the colors he displayed so proudly)...

Of course, it had been hours now, and Draco Malfoy was loosening his muscles by shifting from foot to foot.

* * *

Nearing curfew, it was, before Harry Potter approached Snape's door. Draco idly wondered if he'd been procrastinating about this, or about something else that frantically needed doing before he came down to attend to The Plot.

Harry Potter knocked on the door. Snape, inside, snarled, "Enter" - telling Draco that he either recognized the knock, or had a particular spell to tell him Who's At The Door. He'd never have addressed any Slytherin that way. Potter opened the door, and stood there for a moment, before Draco had the distinct pleasure of seeing Snape's pale hand stretch out and grab Harry by the scruff of his robe, tugging him inside and slamming the door with his foot (or so Draco assumed).

Draco gave it a few moments, and then, as subtly as he knew how, he cast the spell to sneak his ear into Snape's office and _listen_.

"What is the matter, Potter," Snape rapped quickly, abandoning his usual purr for a more forceful, impatient tone.

"Did you - Have you been," Harry potter stammered, then paused, before finding his voice, "Writing letters to Hermione?"

Severus Snape's voice rumbled with the inky blackness of thunderclouds tall as the stratosphere, "Do you mean to suggest that I could possibly be writing love letters to your classmate?"

Harry Potter's voice, if anything, firmed up and steadied, "No sir. Just - if you were sending the letters, they'd be some sort of code."

Draco could nearly hear Snape's eyebrow raising. "One point to Gryffindor, for thinking things through." Severus Snape said at last.

"But - but you never give points to Gryffindor!" Harry Potter said, and Draco pictures his green eyes round as saucers, nearly as big as his busted glasses.

"I do believe in positive reinforcement, Potter. When you deserve it. Running into needless danger will never be worth points from me." Snape talked laconically, as if this was an ordinary occurrence.

"And five points from Gryffindor." Snape said.

"For what?" Harry Potter asked, sounding more confused than outraged. Perhaps something had gone back to 'right' in his head, when Snape took points off the Gryffindor pile.

"For ineloquent argumentation." Snape purred.

"What?" Harry asked, a flash of outrage present in his growing confusion.

"In other words, you lost the points because you couldn't prevent me taking them." Snape said, and Draco pictured him patting Potter patronizingly on the head. Draco couldn't help but smile at that - he well remembered the day Snape had pulled that trick on him. People didn't tend to notice, because Snape wasn't public at all about punishing his house, but he actually tended to take as well as give the majority of points to his house. Put simply, other teachers didn't _care_ as much.

[a/n: Up next: Snape appears. Surely that's worth a review?]


	44. Put some thought into it

Snape looked Potter up and down, saying gruffly, "I have an assignment for you, Potter."

Harry merely looked up at Snape, falling a few hairs short of respectful in the process. Finally, he asked, "Yes sir?"

"Figure out who did this. Who meant for you to come charging in here. Meant for you to accuse me of such nonsense."

"How do I do that, sir?"

"First, by thinking - something that seems in precious supply among Gryffindors - all those muscles cut off the brain's supply of oxygen."

Harry mottled, his breath coming quicker.

"Second, by finding - and eliminating - potential suspects." Snape paused for a moment, and said, " _Someone_ finds this _amusing_. Figure out _why_."

Harry stood there, staring dumbfounded at Snape.

"Go on, scram!" Snape snapped, and Harry bolted for the door, out and halfway down the corridor before he realized he forgot to say "sir."

* * *

Draco Malfoy was still in the alcove, thinking about exactly what it meant that Snape had asked Harry to figure it out himself. His blood had run cold at the thought - surely his involvement wouldn't be a secret from the Slytherin House Master for long... if it was even still a secret at all.

Draco felt a sudden tug from behind (on the nape of his neck), and, as the world spun, found himself dangling five feet off the ground - spun level with Snape's inky eyes. "You," Snape purred.

Draco felt his already pallid complexion turning a strange shade of blue, not from asphyxiation, but from sheer terror.

"Have been _listening_ ," Snape said, "To a _private_ conversation, in my office."

"If you _ever_ **dare** to eavesdrop again, in such _ridiculous_ fashion, this will not be a matter of school discipline." Snape paused, and then said softly, in a gentle voice, " _You don't want to make me angry_." Snape opened his hand, letting Malfoy drop to the floor, uncaring if the boy sustained minor injuries. With a swipe of his wand, he canceled the wordless silencing spell, and strode back to his office, slamming the door. For a long time, Draco Malfoy sat on the floor, limbs akimbo, breathing in pants.

[a/n: Snape doesn't _always_ put up anti-eavesdropping spells. Sometimes he just puts up "detect eavesdropping" spells, and he had a pretty good idea that it was Draco.

Leave a review.]


	45. Like shades, All things must fade

_My love for you is like a shadow,_

 _An insensible thing, visible in the not-seen depths._

 _As you stride upward, towards the violent sun_

 _My love has no choice, following, unheeded, after._

 _Yet when you plunge down towards the ground,_

 _When shadows swallow you into their dark,_

 _Perhaps, only then, you'll feel my love surround you._

 _Like a shadow, constant and undaunted._

It wasn't really what Draco wanted to say, but it would do. It was the unshaded counterpart to what he really wanted to write. But that, that would take more work, more precision, than he had today. Today his mind, his entire being ached to relax. Not that he could, not really. Quiddich was absorbing more of his time, and Potions Class didn't understand the concept of "too busy" either, and he wanted to at least make a start on learning the Elder Futhark today, _before_ class - if nothing else, to rub Granger's nose in the "I Know More than You Do" way. After all, she didn't need to know that he hadn't know this from childhood, but instead had made a concerted effort to learn it before class itself started.

Gently, quietly, he nudged the letter out, off the upper alcove that he currently lay in. As he had suspected (from the earlier, unexpected wind in his hair), it floated there, for a moment, and then bobbed. He watched, confused and a bit daunted. Was it - did it know enough to get this to Granger? Would it pin, somehow, despite the probable lack of hands, bind it to an owl? Or would Granger look up at breakfast to find nothing?

Draco wasn't sure he wanted to see that look on her face. He'd put it there all too often already - it hurt substantially less when he did it on purpose. Like the Seeker he was, he was off, lightly bouncing down the ladder, and following the floating paper, glad that it hadn't been concealed into invisibility itself.

The sprite giggled at him, as it (probably deliberately) took him roaming down dusty passages.

Of course, that was a good thing, otherwise, he'd have had to explain why he was chasing a floating letter, rather than Accioing it.

[a/n: Reader is invited to think about Potter watching Draco's name on the map.

Reviews are nice, and shiny!]


	46. Don't do it, Draco

Draco Malfoy knew it was a bad idea.

He had told himself it was a bad idea.

He was, blast his head to smithereens, apparently going to do it anyway.

The library was a bookish place, filled with the scent of dust, and old, nearly decaying books. Which, in some strange way, was why he liked it. But he wasn't here for the giant treasure trove of knowledge. No, not today. Today, he was unsettled, nearly agitated. And that was why he was gliding, smoothly through the stacks.

Granger had stood up just minutes ago, and had not quite gotten back to her seat just yet.

Which, while it wasn't planned on his part, was certainly convenient.

When he came on her, trying to pull yet another book into her already stacked arms (her breasts tantalizingly above the books), Draco Malfoy smirked.

"Granger, what a surprise." Turning, he looked at the books. _Wizarding Law_. "Here I'd have thought you'd be compulsively working on schoolwork, not on extra credit."

"It's hardly extra credit to be working to free an entire race," Hermione Granger said primly.

"Of course not," Draco mocked with a wry chuckle, "But you'll need something harder than Wizarding Law if you expect them to listen."

"I don't know why I even bother listening to you..." Granger said, moving to step by him.

"Why, I suppose it's my sparkling wit and charming personality." Malfoy said, his voice the epitome of sincerity.

Granger looked at him askance, and then replied, "That's what Pansy said, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Draco Malfoy responded, looking down at his knuckles. "I never listen to her anyway."

"Cad," Granger spat back.

"Filthy mudblood," Draco responded, saying, "But I repeat myself. It must really chafe your hide to be so green, doesn't it?"

"Green?" Granger said, her eyes nearly disappearing under her aggravated frown, trying to figure out exactly what Draco was getting at.

"Green as envy, jealousy - and just like a greenhorn."

"Why'd I ever possibly be jealous of you?" Granger spat back, her honest curiosity glinting in her eyes, suffused with anger.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I know more than you ever will about this Wizarding world." Draco Malfoy said with a smirk, "And you're going to need what I know if you don't fancy breaking heads for a living."

"Why would you ever possibly think that?"

"Well, you do want to free the house elves. They're remarkably thick skulled. I bet you could manage to whack each on the head twice before they go unconscious."

Hermione turned, stomping off. "But," Malfoy continued, appreciating the curiousity that made her pause, and cautiously turn about, "If you don't want to hurt them, well, that's the realm of politics."

Hermione looked at him, up and down, "So?"

"Slytherins are the undisputed masters of politics. And if you ask a Slytherin, ask any Slytherin, you'll find my father at the top of the list." Draco Malfoy said smugly, and with more than a bit of pride.

"As if I would ever deign to ask you or your father for help." Hermione said, turning away.

"And that's why you're destined to fail." Draco Malfoy said, in a singsong voice, knowing that would get under her skin.

"I won't fail." Hermione Granger said, turning back.

"Maybe. Try picking up a hammer, it might help with your quest" The emphasis Draco put on the last word was ample evidence of his ridicule.

"Violence is never the answer." Hermione Granger shot back primly, and then turned and walked away, Draco Malfoy's dark chuckle following on her heels.

[a/n: Brick has been set. Reviews?]


	47. Friday

_Stultifying shadows swirl around me,_

 _They suffuse my very heart,_

 _And wreath my soul, like a trembling shade_

 _I am blinded, deafened, dumb_

 _And slowly, my fingers turn numb_

 _As I stand, nearly swept away_

 _By things the likes of which I cannot say_

 _I yearn for you, for your light_

 _To sear the shadows and make them flee_

 _Even if in the process, you might just burn me._

 _Better to stand in the light for once,_

 _Than to perish alone in the darkness._

Draco heard them talking, his ear pricked around the corner from where the Gryffindors were talking. It wasn't a frequently used hallway, but it led by a particular view that Potter (or maybe Granger) seemed quite fond of. At any rate, they often came here to talk, when they wanted to do so in a bit of private. Not enough to cast silencing spells, or to boot everyone else out of their dorm room, apparently, but enough so they'd have a bit of space. Draco did as he often did, listening in.

"So, Malfoy, of all people, he says to me... that I'm going to need to know what he does, if I hope to get this house elf liberation rolling." Granger said, and then cracked a smile that Draco could hear in her voice, "Well, 'If I don't want to break heads' at any rate." Granger's impression of Draco's drawl was surprisingly inaccurate. Sure, she had the pomposity down, but lacked most of the arrogance.

"That Malfoy, he's really unbelievable, isn't he?" Potter said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, if anyone can make something... unlikely, like freedom of house elves, it's Hermione" Ron Weasley said stoutly.

"You want we should teach him how to act around a lady?" Potter said, in a strange accent*.

"That's the funny part," Hermione said, and Draco could hear the start of a frown pulling at her lips, "It almost sounded like he might be willing to help..."

"Malfoy?!" One of the boys said, as they both cracked up in laughter.

Sensing his cue, Draco Malfoy glided around the corner. He had opened his mouth to say something (Hermione's eyes had gone wide at the sight of him, never you mind that they hadn't been saying anything positively awful or anything), but Potter leaped a full foot in the air, spinning around and glaring at him. "Do you always eavesdrop on conversations that are none of your business?"

"Always? Certainly not. Yours, for example, was about me, so I do think that it possibly pertains to my business." Draco Malfoy said with a smile, "Besides, I've got two ears and one mouth for a reason."

"What is your business?" Granger spat back.

"Only to say this, there's no point in offering when the other person will come begging." Malfoy said with a devilish smirk.

"As if! Me, beg you-!" Granger titled her nose up, and spun around, as if she was completely done with talking.

"Well, I suppose when you boil it down, you're too cowardly to ask for help. Sure hate to be one of those house elves, I would, when my liberator deliberately confounds herself into stupidity." Draco Malfoy said with a sneer. Granger kept walking, her spine stiff as a flagpole, while her friends pulled their wands.

"Boys, boys," Draco Malfoy said, walking between them (to make them hesitate at least, if they were that far off the rational) and placing a hand on both of their shoulders to push by them, "I'm not even armed." Turning, directly, into the next sidepassage, Draco Malfoy let his voice echo back to them, "You wouldn't curse an unarmed man, now would you?" His laughter echoed all around him.

*New Jersey Italian. Mafioso joke.

[a/n: Yes, Draco is quite aware of why Granger isn't willing to ask him for help.

Leave a review?]


	48. Cower and Cringe

_Let the cowards of the world cringe away_

 _You'll take on them all and make them pay_

 _Unwavering gaze, indomitable heart_

 _With a bright sword, you'll slay lies_

 _And when even you begin to fall apart,_

 _I'll be there for you, in whatever guise._

Draco had written the poem early Sunday, and had it parceled and bound and ready to be sent. He himself had headed up to mail a letter to Mother, but was actually surprised to see that neither Potter nor Weasley had been lurking in wait. It would be an odd day, a seachanging day, if Potter had actually listened to a word Snape said.

And so, Draco Malfoy found himself bizarrely looking forward to breakfast, as he sat with aplomb at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. He looked with no end of hidden amazement at the boisterious - no, truly rowdy - antics of the Gryffindors at their table. Luna Lovegood sat with them, beside Hermione who was reading. The blonde opened her mouth and said, "I learned quite a lot yesterday about cosmogone. I should quite like to paint with it, if I ever get a chance to sail."

Hermione didn't look up, merely nodding and saying, "That's nice." The rest of the table (Weaselette, who was currently hanging on Potter's words, included - and wasn't she Luna's friend?) just carried on as if she'd said nothing.

Draco Malfoy couldn't say a thing, shouldn't say a thing. But, inside him, the dark fires built.

* * *

It was later that day that Draco met with Luna - he found himself not at all surprised that she'd divined that he'd wanted to meet. He paced in the alcove that she had indicated, as she took a longer time to glide in than he had to find the place. Draco wasn't much for waiting in the best of times.

"Good Morning, Dragon." Luna said, and it took Draco a brief moment to register exactly what she was doing. Cold as ice, she was completely ignoring the increasing state of enfrazzlement that Draco was revealing to her.

Still continuing to pace, Draco closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath to try and quiet the storm inside of him. Finally, he looked to Luna and demanded, " _How_ can you be friends with them? They don't even listen to you!"

Luna's hand came to gently rest on Draco's shoulder, a familiarity that was uncommon in the pureblood worlds Draco tended to travel in. One that if unwelcome might have demanded the loss of the hand (of course, that was generally a man touching a lady). She met his eyes, and smiled coldly, "They aren't my friends. You are."

Draco paused, half frowning, "Then what do they mean to you? They think they're your friends."

"Comrades," Luna said with a smile, "Tovarisch." Luna shook her head sadly, "They don't think that they're friends with me. They think I'm too weak for that, too fragile or frail. They think they rescued me, that I'm weak." Luna sighed, "I guess I'm kind of their mascot."

"Mascot?" Draco asked, having only followed about half the conversation.

"You know, a lucky dog, something like that, that a team keeps around for good luck?" Luna asked.

Draco shrugged, and said, ponderingly, "You're smarter," his face crumpled, "brighter, than they think..."

"I know that." Luna said with a cheery smile, "And you know that, and that's what matters."

Draco found himself smiling at the slight girl (not fragile, not weak in the slightest, he was coming to realize. Precise, folded, those were better words to describe Luna's aquiline and corvid tendencies).

"As you can see, I find myself in need of a friend as well." Luna said.

"Why didn't you mention that in the first place?" Draco said with an exasperated sigh.

"Second rule of Slytherin: Never reveal weakness if you don't have to." Luna said, "Besides, you wouldn't have respected me half as much if I had said that particular truth."

"And well I know it, at least." Draco said with a smile. They talked more, about silly things, and stubborn things, and conversations that jumped chaotically from one topic to the next. Draco Malfoy excused himself regretfully, as he had to head to the library to work on a project.

"I will see you soon." Luna left him with.

Draco responded in a hushed voice, "I bet you will."

[a/n: Luna can use her sylphs to spy out people standing outside the alcove.

Like it? Leave a review!

Author's Reminder: This is monday.]


	49. Stranger in a Strange Land

_You know the feeling,_

 _You don't quite fit,_

 _Everything's just a little off-kilter_

 _You try to blend in, to be just another -_

 _But it doesn't work, people know._

 _You're a stranger in a strange land_

 _Just like me._

 _Not quite round, not quite square._

 _You don't sand easy, do you?_

 _You don't fit in, you stick up like a rusty nail._

 _And, sometimes when the moon's just right_

 _Your feet start to get that funny itch,_

 _That urge to strike out, to do it alone_

 _To walk out, and just keep walking._

 _To tread the lonely, winding road_

 _Until that day when you find home._

It was truth, in a sense, though Draco Malfoy knew that the Gryffindors would find it laughable. Hermione Granger really did stand out, though more for her intelligence than for being... different. Yes, she was a Muggleborn, but, and here was the really sad part, one could almost forget that. Draco was pretty sure he did forget that, whenever she pulled her wand on him (which, granted, was seldom). Suddenly all his brain could tell him was that there was one really angry witch, and that he was in a lot of trouble.

Still, it would sound silly and a bit trite to write down, but somehow Draco knew that ... home was where _she_ was. Somehow. He just - wasn't there. Yet.

Draco shook his head. Definitely a sentiment too maudlin to record. Still, it was a bone-deep truth.

* * *

Draco Malfoy lay sprawled in his common room, half-lying on a Slytherin green couch, basking the way a lion would. No one trod near him - he'd sit up if he fancied a chat, and people had long since learned it Wasn't Worth bothering Malfoy when he didn't Want to be bothered. Instead, he listened, keeping track of subtle Slytherin currents as they swirled around him. Maegwen had a new date, and it wasn't a Slytherin - her friends were trying to capture his name from her lips. Guesses had proved futile, so it was down to insults.

Todd and Bran were arguing again, just like their namesakes. Perhaps, at some point, they'd figure out how to cooperate, and make a formidable team. Draco didnt' think it likely. Vince and Greg were busy attempting to play chess (they didn't play with the normal rules, so it made things interesting). Draco didn't sit up when the chessboard exploded, pieces flying everywhere. Apparently, they had just achieved "bombarda."

Caradoc swaggered in, his walk just a slight tiff off his usual arrogance. Draco's ears pricked as the older boy strode towards Leigh, "Almost fell over some stupid mudblood today."

Leigh tittered in response, the affectation setting Draco's nerves on edge, as it always did when Pansy used that trick. "Shouldn't they have swept them out of the school by now?"

"What do you expect when the cleaner's a scrub?" Caradoc said in his dire attempt at humor. "So, there I was, descending into the dungeons after Charms, and I almost stumbled against that filth." Caradoc smiled, as if his illhumor was vanishing. "She flattened herself against the wall, and sent ink spattering everywhere."

Leigh wrinkled her nose in sympathy. "I bet it was that third year... the one in red and gold."

Caradoc smiled back at her, and said, "Of course - who else would be in the dungeon at _that_ time of day? I was so spattered with ink that I slipped back to change, and that's why I didn't meet you before lunch."

"Of course it wasn't your fault, that stupid girl needs to learn to watch where she's walking." Leigh said with false good humor. Draco would bet that she'd make him pay before the next Hogsmeade weekend - but for now, she'd pretend that she'd forgiven him.

More importantly... it was _very odd_ to hear about Hermione being in the dungeon. During the last period before lunch. Draco Malfoy was certain she was in his Arithmancy class then (she had asked a very complex, and difficult question, that quite derailed the professor for over half the classperiod, leaving the slower students to scramble to understand the reading by themselves. Draco would have admired the cleverness, had it been intentional.)

[a/n: Tuesday, folks! I particularly like this poem, as it's not sappy at all. Leave a review?]


	50. Just a cloud

I'm just a silly cloud,

Floating on the breeze

The sunlight dances,

And your smiles tease.

With me just a silly cloud,

I can offer you a drop of rain.

Wash a muddied wound

Or maybe remove a stain.

Oh, I'm just a silly cloud

but you can't send me away

Not with sun or moon

Or even if you pray.

For once, Draco had managed to write something that he'd term... whimsical. Oh, it wasn't sentimental, not really, nor maudlin (thank Merlin himself!). But it wasn't serious, not in the slightest. And, Draco thought, sometimes we just have to have one of those days. Trips to the owlry were a bit easier now that Potter and Weasley weren't setting traps, and Draco liked to think on the way up there. Something really hadn't added up yesterday and he badly wanted, no, needed, to know what Granger was up to. Because something seemed ... twisted... about what she was up to. And, sometimes, twisted meant dangerous. Well, Draco Malfoy wasn't quite sure what he could do, but... that would depend on what was going on. What was wrong.

* * *

Both Harry and Blaise arrived at Potions Class too late. By the time they were there (a minute before it was officially supposed to start), Malfoy and Granger were spitting at each other, discussing potions esoterica with a fervor that had their lips about three inches from each other's. Blaise simply sighed, shaking his head and opening a book. Harry, on the other hand, sat there on the potions' desk, his legs swinging, as he watched the two gesticulate at each other. He looked thoughtful, and Blaise occasionally sent him a questioning look.

It had probably been about ten minutes since the beginning of class, when Harry opened his mouth, "But what about Shetopf's Principle of Contagion? Wouldn't that extend to cats' whiskers?"

Hermione's eyes widened, as she looked at Harry in almost sheer disbelief.

Draco Malfoy looked over at Potter, and raised an eyebrow, seemingly unwilling to credit that something useful had come out of Potter's mouth (particularly since they were five blackboards into their discussion, and those were crammed full of notes and diagrams). Worse, Potter had seemingly ended the argument entirely, by bringing up something neither of them were thinking about.

Harry Potter shrugged modestly, saying uncomfortably, "It was raining last weekend. Hermione gave me something to read."

"Exactly how much did you give him to read?" Draco Malfoy addressed Granger skeptically.

"Three books on Potions this week." Hermione Granger said, and mentioned three books that were generally assigned reading for Potions Apprentices.

Draco Malfoy turned back to Potter, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips together, as if in thought, "I guess you really aren't as stupid as Weasley."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and only cleared up when he realized that Draco hadn't actually used an insulting tone. In fact, he'd been shooting for bland. Not that it'd actually worked, but...

It was then Draco's turn to shrug, "No fighting near potions, remember?"

Blaise drawled over the whole moment, "Touching. But can we at least get started now? It's been half an hour since we were supposed to start, and I've got a date. Calling the short one!"

[a/n: Do you want to hear about Snape after class? Because he's going to catch up to the Gryffindor trio... Da-duh!

Leave a review, I'll write quicker that way!]


	51. Sometimes

Blaise was first out the door of the Potions classroom,* leaving the other three to finish cleaning up their stations. Ron Weasley was standing outside the door, obviously waiting for his friends. So, he was the only one to pale when a pallid Severus Snape opened the door to the Potions classroom. "Weasley, in. Potter, stay. The rest of you, out." He said, as he closed the door to his office. Malfoy and Granger hurriedly scurried out of there, and Snape didn't give them a second's more thought, as he sent a silent spell at the door, which shut it with a great bang. He muttered a few silencing and secrecy spells to himself, and then looked at both boys, who were doing their best to look hangdog and crestfallen. It was, not quite working, but it was at least an effort at dissembling.

"Have you figured out who is so upset at you that they've decided to let me punish you in their stead?" Professor Snape purred quietly.

Potter's green eyes shot up, catching Snape's black steadily. "No sir."

"And why is that?" Snape purred, "Have you really no suspects at all?" Snape asked, leading the boys towards answers they might not have faced up to without his interference.

"It's not that sir," Potter responded, "It's that, well, it could be nearly anyone."

"Except," Ron Weasley said unexpectedly, "Most of the Gryffindors would have settled it themselves."

"And just why is that?" Snape said, his voice deadly still.

"Because they wouldn't wish your punishments on anyone, sir." Harry Potter said, perhaps his awareness of how direct he was being prompting his politeness. Merlin knows the boy didn't have any as a general rule.

"And they'd rather do it themselves, too." Ron piped up.

"Why do you suppose it could be nearly anyone?" Snape prompted.

"Well, because nearly nobody would take kindly to having someone else read their private mail." Ron said, his face blushing as deeply as his red roots.

"That's right." Snape's normally severe visage smoothed, his mouth turning nearly flat, as he said, "What do you want to do now?"

"What do you mean, sir?" Harry Potter blinked at him, through those perpetually smeared glasses. Did the child not know any cleaning spells?

"I will, for this one time only, afford you the opportunity to choose whether or not to receive punishment for your untoward actions." Snape said, "I am, at the moment, not especially angry at you, and you may count yourself fortunate that this is so."

Ron frowned, asking suddenly, "What's the catch?"

"If you choose to avoid punishment, that fact will be known, and the person who decided you needed punishment may take further action. However, if you choose to be punished, you can be sure I will 'make it realistic.'" Snape paused, "That way your incessant complaining will seem all the more plausible."

Harry Potter spoke up quickly, "We'll do it sir. Take the punishment." Nearby, Ron glared at Potter, but Snape merely smirked.

"So be it." Snape purred, enjoying the reckless Gryffindors agreeing to be punished. It was, perhaps, the first time in his long career of teaching, that it had been so. "You are dismissed," Snape said, with a wave of his wand canceling all the spells on the door.

*so fast he's missing prepositions.

* * *

They opened the door to find Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy standing there, glaring at each other, with Hermione having multiple bats hanging motionless, stuck to her hair. Professor Snape was at their backs in less than an instant. "Would someone care to enlighten me as to what has been going on here?"

Draco Malfoy turned an unctuous smile towards his favorite professor, saying simply, "We were conducting an experiment, to find out whether Granger was more scared of the bats, or whether they'd be more scared of her hair." He paused, and motioned grandly, "As you can see by their deceased corpses, it would appear that Granger's bravery has carried the day."

Snape's eyes bulged out, and it appeared for a moment that he was trying to decide what to do. Finally, he pinched his nose, shook his head, and said, "Get out of here, all of you. Get Out Of My Sight!" But, by the last few bellowed words, the students were nowhere to be seen. Which, frankly, was just as he liked it.

* * *

[a/n: Thursday below, enjoy]

 _Sometimes I think I see you everywhere,_

 _Your sparkling laughter, bright as sunlit rain._

 _I strain my eyes, crane my neck_

 _It's all an illusion - that's someone else, surely?_

 _Behind me, in front - up on towers high above_

 _Where are you, my dear, the one that I love?_

Draco Malfoy was lurking. Oh, people had different names for what he was doing, skulking, creeping, stalking. But mostly, he was just lurking. He'd verified, above, that Hermione Granger was in Arithmancy (where he was supposed to be), but he had also heard Zambini talking about her being in Divination - at the same time. Oh, it didn't seem possible, but in this magical world, who was really to say?

Still, Draco was willing to admit the possibility - and he knew himself well enough to know that he'd drive himself to distraction if he didn't find out just what exactly was going on. It was the feeling of a cat just at the edge of the firelight; a shadow that moved, nearly enshrouded by darkness. Compelling.

He had always been one for puzzles, anyway. So what was one more? He didn't really dare to credit that it was dangerous, whatever was going on. For one thing, she was clearly doing it under the teachers' eyes, so it couldn't be all that harmful - to her. And Prof. Snape would probably manage to derail any trick that was subtlely harming others en masse.

Sitting was boring, and Draco's feet wanted to straighten, to stretch. However, dead silence was a prerequisite.

And, finally, nearly an hour later, it was rewarded. Granger was first out of the Divination classroom, coming down the ladder with a bang, as if she was upset about something. Draco heard her complaining about the sheer waste of time the class was. "I heard that!" Trelawney said in her high, thready voice.

[Review, please!

The altercation between Malfoy and Granger started with him saying, "The dungeons are a scary place for a mug like you... go ahead and run upstairs." Granger responded with, "Gryffindors don't run" and they were off. This scene is explicitly in reference to my father's habit of catching snakes and putting them in girls' inkwells, to listen to them squeal when the snake eventually slithered out during class.]


	52. Do they tell you?

Do they tell you when you join the House of the Brave?

What bloody fires they'll light deep inside your soul?

That darkling fire, the bloodthirst that bursts black

Out of your eyes; your lioness grin dripping with blood?

It's a struggle to keep your wits in a battle -

But some struggle with fear, and others with rage.

Once, I swore I'd step lightly through

Leaving only footprints

And taking only photos

I can't be that person, if I ever want you.

I can be your lightning rod

Catch you and bind you and

sink you deep in the ruddy ground.

If you want.

If you need.

Together, we might just

have the will to succeed.

Draco Malfoy flew through Hogwarts, his feet swift and sure - just barely within the rules. It didn't make sense, but he'd seen it with his own eyes. Somehow, Granger was ...in two places at once. Two classes, even. That was more than bizarre, that was unreal.

Because...

Because that meant that they were letting her! The Teachers, somehow, were bending one of the Rules of the Universe, and for a third year mudblood girl! Draco didn't wince at the word in his mind, he pulled himself into an alcove, pressing his straight arms against the wall, as he bared his teeth. At himself.

It took minutes before he could get his breathing under control. He finally relaxed, and felt an insistent tugging on his hair. _Luna?_ Draco thought, _How long has she been waiting?_

With an idle, masked smile that looked like a smuggish smirk, Draco Malfoy let himself be guided by the wind, out into the halls, up and down the stairs again, until he had been twisted around enough that he'd no idea where he was, and then, suddenly -

Luna was standing there, in an abandoned classroom.

Draco strode in, feeling the wards part, the wards that had been deliberately crafted with a hole in them, just for him.

"Draco! How delightful!" Luna said, and her eyes gleamed just as golden as her hair, that perfect crystalline quality that she had from top to bottom ringing out. "You've been very busy recently, haven't you?"

"Extremely," Draco Malfoy said, "Would you like to help?"

"Oh! Yes, of course!" Luna said, "Nobody ever asks me to help, you know. I suspect they think I'm too daft to do anything properly." Luna gave him a sparkling wink.

[a/n: Well, that poem got grim. The rest of this, though? Light as a creampuff. Leave a review, NEAMB is taking up most of my typing time, so some encouragement on this one will get you more updates! Or you could just read the other, hinty hint.]


	53. Between wrong and right

_I stand between wrong and right_

 _As the compass spins round and round_

 _It's peasoup fog, I've quite lost the light_

 _Even if I scream, I cannot make a sound._

 _I stand between right and wrong_

 _Hell of it is, I can't dowse the difference_

 _I wonder if you wouldn't drag me along_

 _Yank me sunward, out of the fog so dense._

 _Maybe then I'd truly know_

 _What those dragons teeth might sow_

"Hermione, you're coming to this sleepover with us! Tonight!" Parvati squealed.

"But, I can't..." she said, stammering, as she tried to lunge towards her book, that Lavender was skillfully pulling out of her slackened grip. "I need to study!"

"So does Padma," Parvati giggled. "you can study together."

It was perhaps a mark of how frazzled Hermione was getting, that she let herself get talked into this, even before the breakfast was done.

The girls wanted hairstyling today, and Hermione, with a sigh, told them - she was only slightly despondent - that her hair was simply impossible, unmanageable, and utterly horrid.

Padma said, "Do I smell a research project?"

For perhaps the first time since she'd come to Hogwarts, Parvati grinned at her twin. "Research Project!" They began to chant that to each other, and then started playing clapping games with each other, until they dissolved into great gouts of giggling.

Lavender and Hermione looked at each other quietly, as the other girls proceeded to act like they were about 10.

"Tell us about the latest love letters!" Lavender said, even as Padma and Parvati were scrambling up to go to the library. Hermione, who considered the letters... somewhat personal, scrambled up, and said, "When we get back!"

[a/n: skipping Luna and Draco interaction, as they're going to get down to it later in the week. What's it? RAFO.

Leave a review. Poem is dedicated to "lay me low" a great fanfic on this site.

Mental reminder: this is monday. What week? I have to go count again.]


	54. You roil my senses

_You roil my senses_

 _Like a storm in the desert_

 _Like the moon crossing the sun_

 _Like air to a drowning man._

Draco Malfoy was hiding. Not skulking, not creeping close to listen. No, all he wanted to catch was just a glimpse. A glimpse of Granger where she wasn't supposed to be. He had caught her heading upstairs, and then Luna had informed him that Granger'd been heading downstairs at the same time. However, if Draco ever tried to find out where she was at a particular time... It was one thing to see her once. Even see her going to classes, and confirm, via "Granger doesn't skip clases" that there was something fishy going on.

But he couldn't, absolutely couldn't, see more that one of her at once. It was... almost mindboggling.

It had gotten to the point where Luna was helping him, but her explanation as to why he couldn't see two Grangers, ever, had forked into quantum physics and Schrodingers, and that was enough of a headache. Draco hadn't actually wanted to admit he was lost, which was why he had smiled at Luna when she gave him that sad smile and said, "You're totally out to lunch, aren't you?"

"With Biscuits!" he had replied.

Draco was glad that all he needed to see of Hermione was her bushy hair. He had tried, once, to explain, in his head at least, what was really, honestly creepy behavior. A timetable, for god's sake! It was ... punctilious, and a bunch of other words that he generally wasn't.

Underneath all this, ran a healthy vein of concern. Draco Malfoy could see that Hermione was getting more and more upset, more stressed. It didn't sit well with him, even knowing, well, that his argument with her in Potions had started some of it. Well, at least he was pretty sure it had - at least she didn't need to spoon-feed Weasel the answers.

[And Tuesday. You know what this means. Potions class tommorrow! Poem goes out to John Denver, today. Because of that song. You know the one]

Draco made a mental note to see what Weasel was doing in Potions. Perhaps, without Potter and Granger, he was making as large a conflagration as Longbottom usually did.


	55. Dropping the Hammer

_I drift like a leaf on the breeze_

 _Hither and yon, up and below_

 _Zephyrs are my roads,_

 _and Santa Anas my flight_

 _And yet, however far I go,_

 _I look for you -_

 _I would know you anywhere_

 _Anywhen, even as the darkness fades_

 _Even as the sun glares into my blinding eyes_

 _Someday, soon or far, I will find you._

 _And maybe then you'll see me true._

 _Till then I hide,_

 _Wolf in sheep's clothing,_

 _Chicken in a fox's blind._

Draco ground his teeth to dust, as he smoothly walked to Potions Class. He'd never, ever had such a burning desire to get there. Sanctuary, if a perilous and tricky one. He had to hope that truce would hold. He... figured it stood a good chance. Chances were, Potter wouldn't even understand the question. And, if the Gods were good, Granger wouldn't either. If the gods weren't... well, he'd deal with that when it came down the pike. Kayaking up the river with out a paddle was for chumps.

He was there first, of course he was, and laying out everything for his two potions took surprisingly little time, particularly when Zambini came in and took to the whole preparation like a duck to water.

Potter was there next, looking much calmer than Draco had seen him earlier in the day - which, even though expected, was quite a good sign. "Malfoy." He greeted Draco, and then said, "Zambini" in the same "I don't really care" voice.

Calm. Calm like a breeze on the water, calm like a still pool, calm like the endless ocean, stretching and encompassing... everything. Calm like the sky, like his own silver eyes. It was a chant that Draco knew well, and one that he repeated over and over again. Finally, when his world seemed stable enough to listen, he looked up and over at Potter, "Potter," he asked, still mostly looking down at his work, as he continued to chop.

"Yeah, Malfoy?" Potter asked in that deliberately uncouth manner of his. Couldn't even say a single syllable properly.

Calm, like ice. Calm like meters of snow. Calm as the infinity of deep space.

"Has Weasley ever called me the next Dark Lord?" Malfoy asked, his eyes intent, but his face impassive. He felt lucky that Granger wasn't here, just yet - she might not even hear about this, and then her curiosity wouldn't even have the chance of being roused.

Potter's brow furrowed, undoubtedly recalling Weasel's earlier taunt of Malfoy being a "Junior Death Eater, bound for Azkaban just like his Aunt."

"No." Potter said, looking down again.

Draco Malfoy clung to a semblance of normalcy, trying - through nerveless hands, to continue to cut the roots. He _knew_ what that _meant_. Ron Weasley had a temper the likes of _multiple_ other Gryffindors, and when he was upset, he was prone to exaggeration. Calling Draco a Dark-Lord-In-Training, or somesuch, would have been the natural, the normal thing for him to do.

It hadn't even crossed Ron Weasley's mind.

Dark Lord Voldemort wasn't _really_ **dead** , that was what that meant!

And somehow Ron Weasley, of all people, knew about it. Now, Draco too. He had to wonder - did Potter know? Draco didn't think there were many possibilities where Weasel would know and Potter would not - and all of those revolved around deliberately keeping Potter ignorant, for reasons unknown.

Draco fought to keep everything under wraps, all the emotions that were suddenly churning in his guts like an uneasy, upset stomach. Granger came in and he hardly looked at her, didn't bother reading what she'd written.

Draco blew up his potion in class, it bubbled over and started to eat through the table before Snape burst into the room, vanishing it. Snape said, "That will be a zero, Malfoy. Though you are welcome to make it up when you _and_ the table have _stabilized_." Draco left the room quickly, not before hearing Potter mutter, "Teacher's pet." Draco fought back the urge to pummel Potter, or at least to say, "At least I chose a competent teacher." Neither were productive avenues.

Once the door to the potions classroom had closed, Draco Malfoy set off at a run. He had intended to run until all his emotions were drained, but as he ascended the stairs towards the Astronomy tower, he felt a distinctive chill encircle his neck. Slowing, he turned and followed where it led.

[a/n: And... now for something a little darker. I've been saving up some darker poems for this bit, so I may manage to post a bit faster.

Were you expecting this? What do you think Draco will do? Leave a review!]


	56. Better to know now

Draco Malfoy jogged, slowing from his flat out run, guided by that mysterious silvery-cold grip around his neck. Two corridors up and one to the left, and into a nook behind two facing suits of armor. Luna Lovegood, as expected, sat demurely at one edge of the bench. Draco was in far too much of a state to notice anything more. Backing himself into a corner, he slid to the ground - and started sobbing. He didn't want this to be true, he wanted things to stay as they were. The Dark Lord was terrifying.

For a few minutes, Draco was simply another thirteen year old boy, with a friend, even - not the dignified Malfoy heir, not a slick Slytherin, just a very small, horrified boy.

Luna Lovegood watched impassively, as if understanding that the internal storm that Draco was enduring was not something that needed words. After a few minutes (Draco's eyes had turned red, making him look more like a vampire than ever), she stood and walked over to him, squatting down in front of him.

Then she took her palm and slapped him.

Shocked, Draco Malfoy looked up, snot dripping down his nose.

"Calm down," Luna said coldly, and Draco clung to her lack of emotion, "Assess. Where are you?"

Draco Malfoy closed his eyes, taking deep breaths through the snot, until he could find stillness again. Slowly, he opened his eyes, to Luna's approvingly cold smile, like one of the sylphs herself.

"Before the war." Draco Malfoy said out of nerveless lips.

"Precisely." Luna smiled that soft smile of hers, and then said, "And what do we do before the war?"

"We plan." Draco Malfoy said, the statement turning into a question.

"And, if we plan well enough, we may do some good by acting." Luna smiled. "Together."

Draco Malfoy looked briefly confused, before whispering, "You want an alliance, with _me_?"

"Yes. I did say you'd be needing a friend, didn't it?" Luna said with a soft smile.

"You _knew_!?" Draco Malfoy said, springing to his feet in fury.

"I do talk with them, you know." Luna nodded, continuing, "They don't exactly keep it a secret."

Draco Malfoy thought of exactly how easily he wangled the knowledge out of Ron Weasley and nodded shakily.

Luna said, "We've got plenty of time, I think." She shook her head, "Nobody's panicking yet."

Draco's hands clenched into fists, as he slowly drew breaths in and out. He clung to the idea of _fixing things_. Of, somehow, managing to do something so the Dark Lord's Return wouldn't happen.

[a/n: Tch. Draco is an optimist. Briefly. Leave a review?

To all of you wondering why Draco is cracking? I leave you with a Slytherin thought, "better to know now..." - with respect to Luna.

One should be wary of Slytherins presenting their unguarded bellies]


	57. Pacing

Draco Malfoy met with Luna in the third floor drapery, where there was enough of a gather that people wouldn't see - and Luna's sprites could keep out any unwary stumblers. It was getting to be a regular thing. Draco had had a think last night, up and down the corridors.

"We need to figure out how Granger's attending so many classes." Draco Malfoy said abruptly to Luna, who looked at him with blinkered eyes. "It's unusual. And probably important."

Luna simply nodded, and Draco continued, "Besides, if we could score it - we might be able to use it."

Wearily, he stretched and looked at Luna again - "Do you think it's possible? For us to stop him?"

"Alone?" Luna asked, letting her silvery laughter permeate the draperies. "No. But that's not the point."

"What is the point, then? Jumping into danger headfirst like a bloody Gryffindor?" Draco Malfoy snapped.

"Ending the problem. Fixing the picture." Luna said, "You see, right now the picture is just a bit off plumb, at an angle." She nodded, her cork earrings bobbing. "But if we leave it like that, it'll keep on sliding, until the picture is turned ninety degrees."

Draco nodded slowly, considering the petite blonde's words.

"So, what we really need to do is untilt it. And that requires a deft hand." Luna said, smiling simply.

"What makes you think it was level in teh first place?"

"Magic's not inherently colored, not pure or muddy or anything like that." Luna said, stating it so baldly that Draco wanted to wince. Typical Ravenclaw directness.

"I know it's nonsense -" Draco said, breaking off. "Wait, you're talking about the problem... as if the Dark Lord doesn't exist."

"If he didn't exist, people would make him up, yes." Luna said calmly. Draco just stared. "As long as people believe that there are differences, and that people should be subjugated because of those differences, such monsters will be called into existence."

"But... he's the Dark Lord!" Draco sputtered.

"Made so by his followers, none more prominent than your own father, as well you know. A man can stand and proclaim himself anything - but no one will listen unless he actually has power to back himself up."

"And power is ceded by others, granted by the people willing to back him up." Draco said slowly.

"Otherwise, he'd just be a crazed madman. You saw how Sirius Black was dealt with? Taken down like a mad dog." Luna giggled tunelessly at that comment.

 _Love like lightning_

 _Fire bolting through my veins_

 _Stopping my heart,_

 _Striking me dead -_

 _A new life beats_

 _Inside my heart._

 _Shocked out of the old_

 _You broke my mould._

 _My eyes forlornly follow you,_

 _Shadowed and hidden._

 _You stride in the light,_

 _weapons gleaming_

 _Justice streaming._

 _When the last light fades_

 _Listen a bit_

 _A song through the dark wades_

 _From me to you._

[a/n: No, Draco does not get to stop the Dark Lord Voldemort from reincarnating. That'd be silly AND overpowered.]


	58. If home is where the heart is

_If home is where the heart is,_

 _Then my heart has flown away._

 _It's left me cold and bloodless_

 _Night's chill in the middle of the day_

 _Perhaps I ought to seek you out_

 _Walk until there's someplace to meet_

 _Were I to take that advice_

 _I would be flying on my own seat._

 _Yes, home is where the heart is_

 _Mine is beating next to yours_

 _Wraithlike I stand, cold and alone_

 _Above me, your figure soars._

"Hermione!" Parvati squealed, "It's time for the sleepover."

"What? But - " Hermione sputtered. "I've got so much homework!" Hermione Granger tried to bury herself in the couch, to resist being pulled completely out of the Common Room and up to their bedroom.

"Homework can wait!" Padma cried, sneak-attacking Hermione from the rear, with a well placed shove.

"We'll grab the books!" Fred and George said, with wicked smiles. "Keep 'em good and safe."

The girls hustled a still struggling Hermione up to their rooms, and Hermione finally said, "I guess I can spare an hour or two..."

"You'll spare the whole weekend!" Lavender giggled. "Just look at everything we've got organized. You Can't Skip, Hermione Granger."

[a/n: I was like this as a kid. Wish people had cared that much about me. Review!]


	59. Tracing

When the wind blows cold

Come furl your wings in the cage of my heart.

When the sky turns night

Come be where there's warmth and love.

Turn to anyone else before you look for me,

I'll be waiting just the same.

Still in the shadows, still lurking, still seeking,

that weird curiousity - love, that death cannot find.

Hermione was working, trying to knit some hats and create some more pamphlets for SPEW.

Suddenly, she froze, flipping back to the newspaper she had stuffed in her bag more for padding than anything else.

Shit, How had she managed to just read over that? It was right in front of her face.

There was an interesting article, more a story than a sermon, about dodger house elves and the codgy, stuffy gent. How he thought he'd found the best place to eat, and was eating there quite happily, until his house elf was heard to tell his guest about where the House Elf, of all things, thought it was best to eat. And so, his curiousity aroused, he had to go, had to see. And, lo and behold, he found that it was head and shoulders above where he had been going. He asked the house elf, and the house elf said, "I talked with the kitchen elves, and I talked with the bus elves*, and I talked with the valet elves, and then I knew some things." And the alte kocher was so flabbergasted to learn that house elves actually communicated, actually talked and gossiped without being talked to. The end left him asking, "I wonder what they're saying about me?"

But Hermione wasn't really reading to learn about storytelling, or about persuasion. No, she was reading, quite and simply just to see who the name was. Who cared. Because she'd been having trouble even getting Gryffindors to care. She kicked the desk in frustration, before diverting her anger into action, her fingers starting to write a letter even before she had the thoughts together for it.

Hermione was halfway through a frantic and undoubtedly "Needs Rewriting" letter, before Blaise Zambini snatched it out of her hands. "Hey! That's my letter!" She yelped, remembering only at the last minute to keep her voice quiet.

"Pity it won't actually arrive." Blaise Zambini said.

"What do you mean? Give it Back!" Hermione said quietly but furiously.

Blaise held it above her head, smiling and saying, "Even if I gave it back, it wouldn't arrive."

Hermione paused, seeming to swallow her anger in favor of curiosity. "Why not?"

Blaise smirked. "That's a nomme de plume. Oh, the person exists, alright, but he doesn't actually read the Prophet. And he wouldn't condone publically talking about practically anything. It's part of the joke - taking a look into the secret lives of the idle rich."

"So," Hermione said, "Who _is_ writing it?"

Blaise shrugged, "You could ask the Prophet, I suppose. They might know, if it's hand delivered, or if the owl's distinctive enough."

Hermione glared at him, and Blaise took a step back, holding up his hands, "Not my fault, really."

"I know, but you're here, and convenient." Hermione bit back.

*busing the tables.

[a/n: ever been there? frustrated remotely? Leave a review.

The date is Monday (not that you'll care that much, it's an author's note to myself).]


	60. Sometimes I'm glad

Sometimes I'm glad that you can't spot me,

With tears in my heart and a smile on my face.

I'm not sure quite what I'd do, if you could see.

If you would turn away, or truly give chase.

My constant companions, sorrow, longing and grief

I sometimes wish I could turn a new leaf.

Fly towards the sun, leave the pain all behind.

Better not to try, else I'd probably go blind.

Draco wrote the poem with a sardonic smirk on his face, as if it wasn't a truth that hurt even to scrawl down on paper. He sighed, rolling it up, and putting it beside his letter to his mother, that he sent every week without fail. If he didn't, well, there'd be mum at the gates, and not even Dumbledore himself could keep her out. So, yes, he wrote to his mother, all those pretty little lies that last week were truths. I'm fine, school's fine, everything's fine. _Nothing's fine._ Mum wouldn't read it and realize, he knew, he'd scrubbed it carefully of any little sharp edges, anything to catch at her incessant curiosity.

Draco sighed, ready at last to teach Greg and Vince. He positively hated that Snape had had the gall to assign him to teach the two lunks. It was like being told how to tie your shoes, as an adult. Draco knew that he was going to teach Greg and Vince - he'd always taught Greg and Vince, everything they knew, in fact. Daph liked to say that he should be a teacher, but Draco'd had to scowl at even that suggestion, as well minded as it might be. Malfoys weren't teachers. They could be businessmen, politicians, even a silver tongued lawyer, but never a doctor or a teacher. Too plebeian.

Even if it would have been a good fit.

[a/n: And tuesday. Which means, I've got a potions lesson next day. Joy.

Leave a review, as always, this is a hard story to write, and reviews keep me writing!]


	61. Irate Potions

Harry Potter was surprisingly the first to arrive at the Potions classroom. He wasn't even looking for Snape. Standing there, looking around a dash warily (as Snape might stalk through at any moment), he was rather surprised to find the place feeling... a little more like home. He figured that was because they'd been working in teams, lately, and he had studied to get into this class. So, all the bits of esoterica made a bit more sense, recently.

Hermione entered next, looking flustered and a trace manic. Harry watched her, as she laid out not just her potion recipes, but also the defenses and offenses she planned on using to corner Draco Malfoy into admitting that her ideas were better than his. It didn't always work, of course, but it was fun watching them fence back and forth. Still, Blaise had been right, it wasn't a good idea to let them go on the entire class period (and not just because Harry didn't want to spend till curfew brewing).

Blaise entered on the heels of Draco Malfoy, whose aura radiated 'don't talk with me' - a sort of suppressed anger that Harry recognized from his own past. He was pretty sure he'd worn that exact face, more than once, at the Dursley's. When they'd decided to, completely unprecedentedly, get upset about something that they'd wanted him to do the day before. It had been worse than constant punishments, or even being told that what he did was completely wrong.

Before five minutes were up, Blaise wore a concerned frown. "I think there's something wrong with Malfoy." he said, in a lower tone than a whisper, to Potter.

"Yeah, looks like it." Harry said, listening to Hermione fight her way like a machete-wielding superhero cutting through silk. This was most definitely not normal.

"Any ideas?" Blaise said softly.

"How should I know? He's your friend." Harry responded.

"I know... and I'll ask, but I don't think I'll get anywhere..." Blaise suddenly looked inspired, "Although, maybe if You asked..."

"Why d'y' think that'd help?" Harry said, turning bright green eyes on the dark Slytherin boy.

"Eh. He wears masks, you know... we all do, sure, but... Anger's a good way through them." Blaise said.

Harry simply nodded, and a minute later, they all had their potion instructions and they got to work.


	62. Sandstorm

When the wind whips the sand into lashes

That bleed with the salt of the earth

It's time to close your eyes, squint those lashes

And cower for all you're worth.

Nature's no pacifist, red in tooth and claw

So try not to hold her so much in awe.

[Just finishing the poem from last week. Please review instead of lynching me.)


	63. Lunar Moth

Draco found Luna again, by following the breeze. Oh, he knew quite well that it wasn't really the breeze, but that was how it felt, and the Ravenclaw acted like she walked on air anyway.

"Do you care, Did you care, when they took your shoes?" Draco asked bluntly.

"Yes, and no. Caring would give them power, so I hid it deep and practiced looking vacant and spacey." Luna said. "You'd be surprised what delightful secrets you learn that way."

"Care to share?" Draco Malfoy asked, as glad to not be talking about You Know Who as paying rapt attention to the actual conversation.

"No, we have bigger priorities." Adroitly changing the subject, Luna continued, "Here's the chart I've made of Hermione's whereabouts." It was a complete chart, including highlighted in red where Hermione had been two places when she shouldn't have been.

Draco leaned forward, pointing out two places where Hermione had been seen... where she really shouldn't.

"She's really in both places at once?" Draco asked, "No illusion?"

"Well, to test that, you'd have to - oh, say, knock her books over."

Draco smiled a wicked smile, "That would be a pleasure, I'm sure." Draco's smile turned into a frown, "But we also need to know whether she remembers..."

"I can get that," Luna said in her air-whispy voice. "Just need a few questions from your potions class."

"Better not to use potions, you might accidentally get labeled a genius." Draco said wryly.

"If, I get labeled a genius, I assure you it will be on my own terms." Luna said stiffly.

Draco ploughed on, "Transfiguration then!"

Luna said with a sigh, "I was thinking Herbology. Everyone knows how much I love flowers."

[a/n: second chappie today. still missing poem.

Leave a review.]


	64. I'll be watching you

You may not see me,

But I'll be watching you.

As you soar through the sky

Beneath you I'll sigh,

And I'll be watching you.

When your nails clutch a ledge,

My heart will rest on the edge-

and I'll be watching you.

[a/n: This is in honor of Stranger Things, and a really, really creepy 80's song. Leave a review, this is the first of two chapters. today.]


	65. Firebird

_No one's heard your song just yet,_

 _A song of flame and fire,_

 _Always leaping higher_

 _Until the dying sun's last set._

 _If you must cling to something_

 _Grab your hopes and dreams_

 _With both blistered hands_

 _And hold on -_

 _for the world burns beneath you._

 _They say it's always darkest before the dawn,_

 _But then again, they've never met you-_

 _The firebird, whose song can call flash floods,_

 _Sending trees through the air,_

 _and lighting unending wildfires._

 _You'll need your dreams, your hopes, even your fears._

 _For there's nothing else you'll leave untouched._

Hermione was busy, working on Potions. Of course, she also needed to finish that Ancient Runes assignment, and when she finished that...

Which was why she was so startled when Parvati and Lavender plopped on the bed beside her - on both sides. They each grabbed one of her shoulders, pulling her up and out of the book she was reading.

"Hermione" they singsonged together. "We're having a sleepover!" They clapped their hands together. "Tonight!"

"Um, Okay," Hermione said, still reading, pondering whether bubotuberpus was really the best ingredient, or if powdered pixie wings might do a better job.

"You're coming!" They both said, "And we're staying up alllll night loooong!"

"No! But... it's a schoolnight" Hermione looked up, shocked.

"Doesn't matter. You need a break, girl. Studying too much is totally not good for you."

Hermione lunged for her book, which Parvati had already stealthily been sliding under her pillow.

"Oh no you don't!" Lavender giggled, pinning Hermione's arms behind her back.

Hermione suffered through most of the sleepover, giving the girls a few poems to look at. The last one, though, had her near to tears. "I'm not that bad, am i?"

"Hermione!" Padma said, hitting her with a pillow. "You of all people should know that you wouldn't mess with a good thing!"

[a/n: Leave a review. I did promise dark, didn't i?

Second chapter for the day.]


	66. Farcical Dilemmas

_My life's a farce,_

 _One brilliant garish mockery._

 _I write the truth only here,_

 _I lay myself open only to you._

 _Else who could know who I am?_

 _Else who might actually see me?_

 _I boast, I strut, I mock, I laugh._

 _None of it real_

 _The world insists on painting me._

 _In reds and blacks and golds,_

 _Only you might strain to realize_

 _That I'm painted in the softer hues._

 _Duns and greys and blue shadows_

 _Drawn under the changing moons._

Now! Draco thought, moving as quickly as he could, his eyes still looking at Blaise, who was making a face at him - undoubtedly, he'd noticed that Draco Malfoy was about to run into Hermione Granger - who, as usual, was the first person out of her class. Well, that didn't matter, now did it? Because Draco wanted to run into her - wanted to confirm that she was really there.

Smash!

Apparently Granger hadn't been looking either, as rather than a simple collision, this wound up with her awkwardly half-fallen (braced by her wrist), with Draco spread on top of her, his arms around her. Both of them managed to make rather awkward noises, that Draco was certain Pansy would laugh at later. Draco, having prepared for how he wanted to react, allowed his eyes to get big, before snapping, "Watch where you're going, mudblood!" he hissed the last word as it wasn't worth getting detention simply to insult Granger. "You ran into me, " Hermione snapped back, fire flickering in her eyes. Draco shoved the ground down, pushing himself upwards into a standing position, with barely a bent knee to do it. Raising his nose high, he said, "If you didn't have too many books to carry, you'd not have fallen." Hermione, climbing more unsteadily to her feet, looked at him angrily, but couldn't respond with any venom to the cold truth. Draco watched as she limped away.

* * *

At the same moment, a far more lassidaisical Luna was tripping, tumbling into Hermione, who was leaving the dungeons (undoubtedly after a lesson with Longbottom, as the dungeons were the only suitable places for a Potions lab, self-organized or no). "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione," Luna said carefully, "How are your lessons with Neville going?"

"Quite well, thank you." Hermione said, bracing Luna so she didn't fall down the stairs.

[a/n: Leave a review! They're trying to figure out the timeturner puzzle, importance unknown.]


	67. May be a mask

My face may be a mask, through which you never see.

But my feet they ache for dancing, just you and maybe me.

False courtesies might break and shatter on your sharp edges,

But none so false as sweet words and heartfelt pledges.

Oh what tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive.


	68. Wowsa

Draco Malfoy wasn't clear on exactly why they were in the Great Hall, having a Great Big Sleepover with all the houses. If it was just Gryffindor Tower that had been attacked, why was everyone in here? True, it had been done by a former student (now mass murderer - and also Draco's _cousin_ , a fact that he'd been milking this year for a dash more respect from his own House. Nothing like the idle threat that _I could kill you, you know?_ to keep Rosier or Wilkes on their toes.*)

Still, there were benefits, apparently, to this sort of situation. With so many blankets, and so many students, it wasn't all that hard to be somewhat near the Gryffindors. In fact, as Draco Malfoy had been one of the first Slytherins to arrive (wisely not taking much in the way of baked goods), he'd positioned most of the Slytherins beside the Gryffindors.

If every year of the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry was as bad as his own, that would have been a phenomenally stupid decision. As it was, every other year seemed to be mostly cool, with strained relations but rarely violence. Except for the Weasley twins, who were an exception to every rule, so why not this one? Still, the Slytherins tended to simply band together enmasse, so it wasn't like anyone had a personal grudge. They had a communal grudge, but that was the sort of thing that required consensus, so it was unlikely to start a fight in the Great Hall with teachers watching.

In fact, if any teacher was to keep an eye on anyone, it would probably be Draco Malfoy. Not that it was sensible, or anything, but facts were facts - and for some reason, most of the teachers eyed all Slytherins, but especially Draco, with mistrust. Granted, it had been his decision to squeal on the Gryffindors in first year... but in his defense, DRAGON. There had been no conceivable reason, _none at all_ , for the Gryffindors to be that stupid. To call them brave for that would imply that they had some natural-born concept of fear, which they apparently didn't possess.

Stretching out in his sleeping bag, he watched as the Gryffindor girls sat on top of theirs, his hand discretely casting a large but subtle warming charm - the type that would keep girls out of their sleeping bags longer, because "it was tooo hot under there."

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy settled in to watch, his eyes half turned towards the ground so that people wouldn't notice that his eyes were open. He was dead certain that Blaise knew what he was doing, but he was also certain that Blaise was watching as well, if a little more openly. Even Blaise wouldn't dare to talk with Gryffindor Girls barely dressed in their underwear.

He could see their _legs_ , for goodness sakes!

Of course, the other reason for being half rolled onto his belly was to prevent any... other awkwardness from being blatantly visible. Draco Malfoy felt a little like a lecherous old man, staring at girls who weren't aware that he was looking at them. Still, he pacified his conscience, _she wouldn't want me looking anyway._ Hermione's legs weren't the longest, or the slimmest, or even the curviest. But they were solidly there, and Draco Malfoy wanted to caress them, to the point where his breath ran short at even the thought. And he was (chivalrously) trying not to look at her neckline... or what lay temptingly beneath it. She wasn't wearing a corset, or a brassiere or _anything_ (He'd noticed when she'd stretched earlier), just a simple curve hugging shift.

*These are older boys.

[a/n: Shoutout to the wonderful reviewer who left me 7 reviews in the past day. For you, I give you this chapter.

Leave a review?]


	69. Where would be the fun in that?

_Long's the journey, far you'll roam_

 _Turn and think of going home._

 _Your tears will fall like broken stardust_

 _Even on stainless steel they will rust._

 _Into darkness and beyond_

 _Until light comes to the monde._

Draco Malfoy knew he could simply ask about what was going on with Hermione Granger. His Head of House would surely know (although he'd have little reason to tell Draco, so there was that). Flitwick would also know, but Draco had less of a connection with him, and trying to forge one might take too long.

Besides, what was the point of a riddle if you asked someone else to solve it _for you_?

Draco Malfoy needed a plan. He'd talked with Luna yesterday, and had come up with one, risky though it was. Still, he'd seen Potter manage worse things (a firework? really?) and not actually be maimed, wounded or killed. So, it might work.

If it was a charm, a spell of some sort - if Hermione was doing it herself, this should prove it. If not, it would be some sort of artifact.

Draco was confident that Luna could talk Hermione into teaching her what she was doing... eventually. Time itself would grind to dust before a Ravenclaw gave up such a tasty assignment, after all. Draco would have liked it himself, but getting Hermione to talk with him was difficult enough.

And today was the perfect opportunity. A potion of confounding - one that would twist up one's sense of balance and direction. The normal potion lasted only an hour, but Draco's modifications (as prompted by Bechtold) would make it last far longer. Three whole days. With the midterm tests coming up, Granger would be stir-crazy trying to make them. She'd speed up time if she could, because she couldn't rely on her friends.

Not in this, at least. Draco had _seen_ her friends' notes. They were dreadful, and were likely to be worse without Hermione to insist they sat in the front row.

* * *

Potions class started with the general argumentation that Draco was used to - Hermione was trying to make spots out of this potion - quick little things that she could magic into Ron Weasel, no doubt. The boy was a hothead in the best of times, and was likely to say things he didn't mean - better to make him sound stupid than actually spill secrets. Draco could sympathize (Gryffindorks were aggravating even in the best of times, and Ron Weasel was the worst. It was as if the entire purpose of creating him was to create an irritation. And somehow Granger was his friend.*).

After they had finished laying out the three variations, the other two pupils tuned into the conversation - just long enough to get their papers. Draco had to wonder what they talked about while he was busy arguing with Granger.

The potionmaking was like settling into a well hewn groove. Chop chop stir spin toss sprinkle. Everything in the proper order. Draco's was done first, courtesy of his choice of woundwort for stability. Everyone else had to wait about five minutes more. Draco Malfoy bottled his potion in a nice vial and then headed towards the front of the room where the latticework apparatus for containing vials sat. Of course, he had to walk by Hermione Granger to do so, and as he got near, he stumbled - over nothing at all - and let the vial splash the back of her head, her face, her hair.

It was beautiful. Of course, such things were relative, but having gooey, oozy purple gunk dripping all down her was hilarious.

Draco Malfoy couldn't stifle a laugh, and Hermione's face was getting beet red (where it wasn't purple), and Harry Potter was right there beside her, in righteous indignation (Draco was glad that there wasn't a wand pulled yet).

Snape shot into the room, as if he'd been listening behind the door (which, come to think, he probably had). He began to wave his wand around Hermione, trying several spells to remove the pernicious oobleck, which had hardened as everyone had apparently decided that dealing with Draco's amusement was much more important than actually removing the noxious substance. More fool them, Draco thought.

"It's useless," Snape at last said coldly. "Miss Granger, you are confined to the infirmary for the next three days. You are to stay there. This will not be a pleasant time for you."

"But sir-!" Granger said, rather predictably, "I've got too much-!"

Snape cut her off, "I will finish your potion, and grade you accordingly. You will not be receiving perfect marks for this potion, as your workspace is not cleared off." Smirking, Draco snorted at this, surprised that Snape would actually give Granger credit for what she _hadn't_ actually done, which was stir once and bottle the business.

"As for the rest of you," Snape said looking over them, "I believe you have potions that need tending."

"But sir!-" Harry Potter said, "Malfoy did it _on purpose_."

"Mister Malfoy?" Snape said, looming over Draco.

"It was absolutely an accident, sir." Draco Malfoy said, putting on his best innocent face. "They think I did it on purpose because I have some sense of style. Tyrian purple and crimson and chocolate clash abominably, sir."

Snape looked over at Harry Potter, and said, "I am confident that this was an accident." Snape looked at Draco then, and Draco felt a spike of fear. "Be more careful in the future, or I will punish you as if you did it intentionally. Once is a mistake. Twice is running the margins." Draco nodded somberly, as Granger at last left the room.

Snape looked back at Potter, who was still looking peeved as hell. "I'd think twice, if I were you, before drawing a wand in my classroom. If you _must_ fight like a common hooligan, do it _later_."

Harry Potter, amusingly startled, looked up at Snape, blinked once, and then said, "Yes sir." First time for everything, Draco Malfoy supposed.

*Draco is quite conveniently forgetting that he used to think of Hermione as really, really _really_ irritating.

[a/n: Hermione isn't around to talk them out of "justice."

This is Wednesday. Potions Day.]


	70. I wish I could help

Luna Lovegood came to visit Hermione Granger on the first day of her confinement, sitting there and humming a tuneless song as she read to Hermione out of one of the research papers her father had given her.

"Such a shame, such a shame," Luna said,

"I know, I can't believe I'm going to be missing so much class!" Hermione said, regretfully.

"I meant about the Riddentown Fairies. To think they were so starved for quality companionship they let themselves be seen by Muggles!"

"Oh, oh my!" Hermione said.

"Yes, well, luckily no one believes children, even when they come equipped with photographic evidence." Luna smiled.

"Ain't that the truth,"Hermione said.

"When you eliminate the impossible, whatever else remains must be the truth, no matter how implausible." Luna quoted.

"Sherlock Holmes." Hermione said with a ghost of a smile.

"Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Who believed in fairies." Luna said, smiling that dreamy smile of hers.

 _Blue shadows paint the world,_

 _In the deep unending darkness_

 _As purple stripes the sky_

 _The world rejoices as breaks the day._

 _However, I can only weep_

 _For promises I cannot keep_

 _Moonshadows make an unreality_

 _Where even I can pretend, just once_

 _One dance, one unending moment_

 _With you._

[a/n: Thursday! Leave a review? What'll happen on Friday I wonder? Nah, just kidding. I know, you don't!]


	71. Exploding in the Dark

_It was a small dream,_

 _Two people, hands entwined._

 _I consign it to the flame_

 _Spread its ashes across the sky._

 _Can you tell me where to sing?_

 _Joy and rage and everything?_

 _Mirrors reflect so falsely,_

 _I should strike and break them all._

 _In the destruction would be peace._

 _But the timetossed journey's long_

 _And the winding road beckons me on._

 _I'm a long long way from home._

 _I may run but never roam._

 _Like blood my journey's set_

 _I just don't know quite yet._

 _Is it so terribly wrong_

 _To want to rest my weary head?_

Draco Malfoy was sitting in the hospital wing, having managed to catch a severe case of the scratches. Hermione Granger was a few beds over (the nurse knew enough not to put Gryffindors close to Slytherins, lest the peaceful air of the infirmary be rent with screams and possibly hexes), her hands moving over books that she couldn't truly read. Her franticness was as adorable as it was illuminating. Artifacts had limits, and Hermione Granger's movements strongly implied that she had an artifact that would only give her so much... "free time."

Spells tended to be relatively free of rules, but artifacts? Their rules shone bright and clear, perhaps as compensation for their ability to be used by squibs and people with less magic in general. And Hermione Granger was behaving exactly as she would, if she knew she was falling behind, and probably couldn't grab back enough time to do it.

So, an artifact. Something that makes her duplicate, or something like that. And a limited use one, though probably not charges. It wasn't something that would exhaust itself. Possibly... just possibly... it might be something that would twist _other_ things, and everyone knew that too much twisting caused knots that you could _never_ untie.

* * *

Later, after a few hours of time spent in the infirmary (to be sure that Granger wasn't just a bit befuddled into studying frantically...), while the nurse healed much more severe Quiddich injuries, Draco Malfoy made his way where the winds led him.

Well, if by winds you meant sylphs, which Draco most definitely did.

Draco relayed his observations, as did Luna, and then they both presented their conclusions, which were surprisingly similar.

"I want that artifact." Luna said, her eyes glimmering in the greedy way Severus Snape's did when he saw a phoenix feather. "It is soo shiny, and it will come in handy too."

"Yes, I can see that." Draco Malfoy said, not certain what plan the air-headed Ravenclaw was spinning, but able to grasp the strategic implications of this artifact.

"I think..." Luna said, cocking her head to one side. "Yes, the krumplehorned snorkank says that we can wait. That it was in a box, under lock and key before it was given to Granger."

Draco Malfoy looked at Luna and asked, warily, "You already knew what it was, when I first noticed something was strange, didn't you?"

"Of course. But a riddles no fun if someone tells you the answer." Luna Lovegood said, smiling in that annoyingly vacant way, "And you had fun, didn't you? Isn't that what friends are supposed to do together?"

Draco Malfoy shoved both hands in his pockets, pressing his back against the wall as he tried to look nonchalant, "I wouldn't know. Probably, though."

"You'll learn," Luna said, in a voice that sounded eerily certain.

[a/n: Luna Lovegood, everyone. Now playing in theaters across the multiverse, spreading cryptic hints and conveying vague wisdom.

Reviews?

I would like to recommend that everyone listen to Manten, from Fate Stay Zero. Even if you cannot listen, at least read the lyrics. So. Awesome.]


	72. Fretting

"Have you ever seen her with so many books?" Harry Potter stagewhispered to his friend Ron.

"Never, not even -" Ron said, cutting off in case someone was listening - they were in the library after all.

Hermione Granger's books did indeed cover the entire desk, and this wasn't just some simple carrel. It was a full desk wide enough for three abreast to sit, and two on the sides as well.* They were stacked neatly, and that made it even worse, somehow. More intimidating.

Not that Draco Malfoy was ever intimidated by anything, of course, but... The Gryffindors, of all people, seemed intimidated.

"All I wanted was to know what Bowtruckle juice could possibly do in a Strengthening Solution..." Harry whined.

"I wanted some help with my transfiguration homework. _How_ are we supposed to _know_ Kahnmann's law?" Ron whined.

 _Oh, I don't know, by reading, perhaps?_ Draco mentally drawled, only to do a mental spittake as Harry echoed him audibly, nearly word for word. _Shite, he was really losing it if his insults were exactly what Potter used._

"It's not even December yet, how can she be studying so much stuff?" Ron continued.

"I can hear you, you know." Hermione Granger ground out. "You're distracting." Draco Malfoy wanted to guffaw in laughter at that, as it was an understatement. He'd have had trouble studying three rows away from them ... if he was three rows away. As it was, he was less than one row away... just, in an upward direction. That was the thing of it - people _never_ looked up.

"Hermione..." Ron said, trying for puppy dog winsomeness, and mostly getting pathetic instead.

Potter, strangely, was a bit better at the lost puppy dog eyes (maybe it was the green), and Hermione finally just rolled her eyes, saying crabbily, "Fine, if it will get you out of my hair."

Somewhat surprisingly, Potter really did just have one question, although the answering of it still took twenty minutes of digressions (when Snape called Granger a know-it-all, it was less insult than pure unadulterated truth. Which, of course, is why it hurt. People hated it when Slytherins told the truth, it was why they had such a reputation as liars. Well, that and said reputation made it absurdly convenient to say "you're lying!").

Ron Weasley was a different story - far from needing "some" help, he needed "all" help. By the time he'd nearly convinced Hermione to actually write half the report for him, " _your handwriting's so neat..._ " Draco was about to see if he could trick the Weasel into eating some waterbearing fruit right over his parchment, so it'd get completely soaked and he'd have to start over from scratch.

Unfortunately, that plan was scotched before it even began, because Ron was the kid brother of the WeaselTwins, and they were notorious for doing brilliant work with edibles (no doubt because their brother was a _bottomless_ eating pit).

*This is just a bit big for a principal's desk. Picture the desk in the Oval Office if you must, for sizing purposes. Suffice it to say, that's a lot of books.

[a/n: this is monday. For those keeping track, roughly second week in November. Haven't written the poem yet, but this chapter's in thanks for the review of last one.

More reviews get this story more attention. Hinty hint hint.]


	73. Meant to be Broken

_Forged in fire,_

 _And then pierced with it,_

 _Quenched in water turned steam._

 _Beaten sound,_

 _Made broken._

 _What do you do with a flawed sword?_

 _Meant to break, meant to be broken,_

 _To turn on the hand that wields it._

 _A weapon is a tool, foremost and first._

 _But when it's a man, well that's the worst._

Draco smiled a sad smile at the page. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, wasn't sure what exactly was going to happen. But, but, but, he was a Malfoy, and for that alone, he knew where he stood. Dark times ahead, indeed. It was like he was standing on the tip of the North Tower, looking down. Not contemplating falling, but sure that he was about to take the next step. And that it was a loooong way down. There were many reasons why Slytherins liked the shadows and the fading embers. At least he'd be taking the step with eyes wide open.

[a/n: Just a little thinking from Draco. Leave a review?]


	74. Enough Rope to Hang Himself

Severus Snape was by nature a somewhat cutting and sardonic person. Worse, he was by nature pessimistic. So he had looked on one Mister Harry Potter as James' Potter's misbegotten spawn, a hell-raiser in training (Helped out by his Good Friend Albus Dumbledore, and his Better Friends the Weasley Twins).

And so he hadn't thought twice about promising Mister Potter some time. He'd been virtually certain that it would be used, and within the first week at that.

More than two months gone, and not a peep from Mister Potter.

And it wasn't like the boy hadn't earned his fair share of detentions. Were the boy really James, he'd have been itching to gloat about escaping a detention with the Feared Potion Master Snape. Even fair Lily would have used a judicious portion of the time, by now.

No...

This reeked of purpose, and all of Snape's hardbitten professorial instincts rang with the knowledge that _Potter was up to something_. And yes, that was probably true, but _what_?

Severus Snape had even assigned some malevolent and practically unwarranted detentions, just as an experiment... Those too were ignored, though he could have sworn he saw Gryffindor outrage in those bottle green eyes.

This was most puzzling.

Severus Snape had always liked puzzles, though.

He'd given the Potter brat enough rope to hang himself (that being the expected outcome), and ... the impudent boy seemed intent on not doing the expected.

Severus Snape was, quite despite himself, cautiously optimistic. For something was going on, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

 _When you set the world afire_

 _Wreath everything in blue and green_

 _When even shadows scream_

 _You'll still be all that I desire._

 _Firechild._

 _I, a shadow, wither and fade_

 _Jump and shrink and hide_

 _Sometime all debts must be paid,_

 _Maybe before I stand by your side._

[a/n: What's Harry up to? Can you guess?

This is mostly an outtake from Snape's point of view, to break up more Malfoy worrying about Granger's worry.

Leave a review?]


	75. Runaway

_I'm a runaway train, never looking back._

 _Got nothing to keep me on the straight and narrow track._

 _Everyone tried to stick me to the rails._

 _But I've decided I blaze my own trails._

 _Maybe someday, beyond the setting sun._

 _I can finally finish what I've barely begun._

 _Maybe past the endless wind and wave._

 _There'll be something left for you to save._

It was a bleak poem, full of windy hope - the sort you can't touch, but can feel ruffling your hair at twilight. Draco, though, liked it. It was... forward looking. And he had a feeling that he'd need hope, of all things, in the days ahead. Hope was one of the few things that he could truly protect from The Dark, after all. Candles lit in darkness glow ten times as bright.*

Draco didn't know many things - he preferred to see things in terms of possibilities, and so his table of options was crowded and teeming like a feast of maggots. But one thing he did know, was that Hermione Granger was wound too tight. She was spending too much of her time (that she, rather implausibly, had more of than the rest of mortal men) working, studying, crowding and cramming ideas into her head.

Draco knew he had to do something about it - he couldn't stand to see her like that. She was generally calmer, more curious, not like a vibrating violin string ready to snap. And for Merlin's sake! She was affecting his nerves too.

* * *

Had Harry Potter been the first into Potions, he would have wondered at Draco Malfoy's arrival, for Malfoy was unusually tense - the coiled alertness of a snake. Harry would have remembered seeing that look before - on the Quiddich fields.

As it was, Harry Potter was often late and nearly never early, so the next person to enter was Hermione Granger.

"Hey, do you think we could use Firepine cones?"

"And risk us setting the entire lab on fire?"

"It'd make the dousing potion more effective."

"If we were trying to quench a fire, and not simply Find Water." Hermione had her textbook out within seconds, "See! It's right here."

"So it is," Draco Malfoy said, "But was there ever a reason to make a potion only do one thing, when you can make it do more?"

"You can't make a poison and an antidote together, it doesn't work!" Hermione said.

"Yes, but imagine a flame finding potion, that would also douse the flames..." Draco smiled.

"And how is that going to find water?"

At this point Blaise and Harry walked in, mouths both dropping as they saw the two Class Brains inches away from each other, spitting... actual potions research at each other. As if that was normal.

"Enough!" Blaise said, "Let's get to work!"

Draco Malfoy couldn't relax until he saw Hermione Granger relax herself, diving deeper into a potion-making trance than he'd seen in weeks. _It had worked!_

[a/n: Potter's perfectly capable of using his Slytherin side. He just needs to be around to notice things.

Leave a review?]

*literally true. Eyes adjust logarithmically.


	76. Springs

_Safe is only an illusion_

 _There is always a crack,_

 _A hole, a way in and out_

 _Walk softly, and listen well._

 _Inside the loom,_

 _weaving fore and back_

 _The shuttle crisscrosses_

 _And spins a textile spell._

 _Written in runes, and_

 _etched in glass_

 _All things fade to memory_

 _And everything will pass._

Draco wrote the words, while nearby Luna was telling some sort of nonsense story that she was making sensible, tangible through the strength of her own tale. That was one thing that he'd come to like about Luna. She wasn't distracting - she had some sort of gift, in knowing when conversation was wanted - or needed. But she had that gift of stillness, one of those things that Draco had always thought was so quintessentially Slytherin. Others had patience, true, but to sit, and wait, and be undisturbed by the waiting - that was a very Slytherin thing.

Granger buried herself in books, and Luna wreathed herself in stories. Draco simply sat, and was still. He looked over his poem, again, his restless spirit seeming to wake.

"Luna," he asked softly, not wanting to disturb her if she was busy.

"Yes, Draco?" she asked, and Draco smirked. He liked that about her, the direct way her blue eyes met his. The poise that was untaught and untrained.

"Yesterday - it worked!" Draco was up and pacing nearly before he'd spread the sand over the still-wet ink.

"What worked?" Luna asked, though Draco would have continued on without her saying anything.

"Granger and I were arguing during Potions ... and you know, after that, she calmed down." Draco said enthusiastically. "It actually worked!"

"Or did it?" Luna said, in that quietly patient way she had. "I saw her this morning, and she looked just as tightly wound up as ever."

"I know- but if it worked once, it'll work again!" Draco said, mixing frustration with a sense of triumph.

"You can't do it all the time, Malfoy." Luna said, and that was how Draco knew she was dead serious - she never called him by his last name.

"You could help!" Draco said, thoughtlessly - and worse, guilelessly. It was a measure of how much Hermione Granger's tenseness was affecting him - and Luna _knew_ it.

She sent him a long, considering look, and shook her head, "This is a spring," she said, pulling something out of ... her hair. It looked, Draco was surprised to see, like it was trying to hold her hair together, as when she took it out, her sungold hair went spilling down her shoulders, almost like liquid water.

She pulled on it, and said, "This is what you did yesterday. You pulled on her tenseness," Luna paused, looking at Draco - who, for his own part, was equal parts fascinated by the coil of metal, and by Luna's words.*

"Today, it sprung back." Luna said, releasing the spring. "You could do that again and again." she said, using the spring to illustrate her words, "and it would have the same effect."

"So what do I do?" Draco asked, entranced both by the words and the funny springy metal thing.

"Well, it turns out, if you pull on a spring hard enough," and Luna did, "It doesn't just spring back," Draco looked, saddened almost, at the spring that was suddenly... not springy. It was stretched out, and wouldn't spring back together like it used to.

"So... I have to... get her to loosen up... a lot." Draco Malfoy said. "Luna, you're a genius!" Draco Malfoy said, before rushing off.

"Bye, Dragon." Luna said, to his rapidly disappearing back. She got that a lot, however, so it didn't bother her none.

[a/n: What's Draco's idea? Suggestions and comments are welcome, so leave a review!]

*a spring is a muggle device, apparently. or at least not one that pompous pureblood prats are exposed to at early ages.


	77. Class of Mayhem and Misery

Blaise Zambini was headed toward Care of Magical Creatures, which wasn't so unusual as it was a Friday. It was a bonnie autumn day (and Merlin save him if he ever spoke like McGonagall aloud), cool and crisp and cheerful. As everyone knew, the class itself wouldn't be like that at all.

The class was filled with deviltry and mayhem, mostly perpetrated by the "Professor" on his unwitting students. Still, it was never dull.

The teacher was mad, of course - so bad at his job that Draco had thrice tried to get him fired. It was perhaps a testament to Dumbledore's power and influence, rather than his mercy, that Hagrid was still a Professor.

And then Blaise saw Draco, strutting up from Hogwarts like he was a cock of the walk. Blaise's heart sank. That looked suspiciously like a Draco Malfoy with a plan. And if Blaise had learned anything these last three years, it was that Draco's plans were generally rubbish. And he was entirely too full of himself to figure that part out himself.

If Blaise could... but, no, Draco was actually decent at keeping his enthusiasm under wraps, until it was almost time. He'd have to rib Malfoy about this later, but what in the soddin' hell did he have planned?

[a/n: You think being friends with Harry is a lot of work? try being friends with beloved Draco.

Leave a review.]


	78. Watch and Wait

Draco Malfoy didn't generally enjoy Hagrid's class. It wasn't that the man was a halfbreed, though that unfortunately contributed to his lack of general intelligence. To wit: he failed to understand that "'armless critters" weren't necessarily harmless to his students. Still, it was an interesting class, and Draco Malfoy had grown up around a variety of large beasts, courtesy of his father's wealth and his mother's fondness for the exotic (his father only really liked the rare silver peacocks).

His unfocused eyes only pretended to stare at the current curriculum beast, in reality, his entire focus was on Hermione Granger, who was talking with her friends. He frowned inwardly, as he saw that Neville was also there, which would make things more difficult.

In the actual class, they split up in pairs, learning how to groom shugmonkeys, who were surprisingly docile for a creature that Hagrid had managed to lure out of the Forbidden Forest. Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy didn't have much time to think about it. Luckily, he wasn't paired with Pansy, who would have talked the entire time, but even with Goyle, Draco had to help remove some of the dung stuck on the beast.

It was nearing the end of class by the time Draco Malfoy was done with the grooming - the Gryffindors also looked to be done. Weasel and Pothead decided to start talking about Quiddich, which would prove to be a bit of a mistake for them, Draco thought, smiling inwardly though it of course didn't show on his face. Their talk attracted Neville Longbottom, and left Hermione Granger still trying to lock the pen with the shrugmonkey in it - an action unhelped by the fact that Granger was clearly trying to think about twenty other things at the same time.

 _Showtime!_

[a/n: I love cliffhangers. Don't you? What do you suppose Draco is up to? Why does it involve getting Granger off where her friends aren't?]


	79. Not in the plans

Outside, there's a green smell on the breeze,

A storm's rising, lightning on the way.

But for a brief and precious moment,

all is calm, all is quiet, all is neat.

You'll ride the storm as the dolphin rides the sea,

When the whirlwind meets the waves

And flames flicker through the forest

I know you'll be there - fighting and free.

 _And they were pretty words, pure truth that concealed the truest lie. Draco thought this, as he wrote words on a page, a missive to a person who might never know him at all. Some would call him a fool for such...sentimentality, for daring to expose even the least of himself to someone who doesn't share a scrap in return. Draco, however, doesn't need her to share, he can read her like an open book. Gryffindors, like Hufflepuffs, were easy. Ravenclaws, too, though in their enthusiasm, they often forgot how to feel entirely. Besides, Blaise had been right, putting pen to page was like opening a clepysdra - sending out a small waterfall instead of an explosion of water and wind._


	80. Inhale

Draco Malfoy knew many deceptions, as many as a fox knows tricks. Here, he selected a small one. He pretended to be looking at Hagrid's latest acquisition (the topic for the next class), even as she crashed his knee into Granger's shoulder, where she was still squatting with the snugmonkey. Unfortunately, not looking where you're going tends to lead to being slightly out of place. In this precise moment, Draco Malfoy hit Granger harder than he meant to, nearly flipping himself over due to a momentary imbalance of weight. But, as that was not in the plans, it couldn't be allowed to happen. Bu sheer dint of will, Draco flailed himself back onto his feet. Turning, he glared at Granger, saying, "Watch where you're squatting, Mudblood."

Hermione rose to her feet, spitting back, "You pompous prick - _you_ ran into _me_!" She was practically shaking with anger, something that Draco Malfoy knew was reasonably uncharacteristic of the typically level-headed girl.

Draco Malfoy had to keep his mouth from smirking. Granger had such fire to her, imbued in her very soul. "Do you know what your problem is?" Malfoy asked, his drawling voice cold and sneering.

"MY problem?!" Hermione said, biting her words, "Now look here, mister inbred mutant albino. Let me tell you about _your_ problem..."

"I wouldn't" Draco Malfoy drawled uncaringly, "Haven't you realized that nobody listens to you, Mudblood?" Draco deducted points from himself for the repetition.

"You have to pay people to listen to you, so Mr. Pot, are you really going to call me black?" Draco deducted points for the cliche.

"I'd never," Draco Malfoy drawled, trying to strike as arrogant a tone as he knew how. "Black's my birthright, never yours." In the corner of his eye, he could feel Potter stirring, and nearly hear Weasel restraining him.

'Of course, your mother's side." Hermione said, "Your witticisms are trite and tiresome, you realize?" Now Granger's voice sounded unaffected and disinterested.

"Mudblood, have you ever considered the concept that you're simply missing the contextual clues for the wit?" Draco Malfoy drawled, his tones icy and precise, like an iceblade well below zero.

"I'm no space cadet." Granger growled out, fingering her wand. "You may have me mistaken for Lovegood." Draco Malfoy restrained the sudden impulse to demand an explanation for what exactly was a space cadet. He hated being in the dark.

"With your hair trying to eat everything around it? Hardly." Draco Malfoy drawled. "You are truly the swot of the century, you know - looking up my geneology, of all things! I suppose I might even be flattered, if I thought you liked me." Draco said this in tones of utter boredom.

"Hardly!" Granger spat back, exactly as predicted.

"Little Miss Know It All, has to know exactly everything." Draco Malfoy said in a deliberately ear-grating singsong voice.

"I do not!" Hermione said, crossing her arms, the tension on them giving away the increasing enfrazzlement of her mind.

Ignoring her, Draco continued, "It's a good thing too, or you wouldn't have any so-called friends."

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, and Draco saw the first, slightest, 'cant' see through' breath of air in that stone wall Granger built around her feelings.

"You can't possibly think your friends like you, Granger." Draco said in an officious tone. "They're just putting up with you so you'll do their homework."

"You're lying!" Hermione said, and Draco could start to see her eyes fill with water. This was really striking home, he thought victoriously.

"If you're so certain about that, why don't you ask them?" Draco Malfoy said in a voice lower than a whisper.

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits, and her hand whipped back, before slapping Draco upside the head.

Draco took a prudent two steps backward, as he mouthed at her, "I win" - before turning around, acting as if the conversation was over. In reality, he was waiting for her friends to crowd around her. Draco slowly began to saunter away, more moving to make it look like he was leaving than trying to actually put distance anywhere between them.

Ah, there we go, Potty in the lead, "Hermione, you really shouldn't let anything he says bother you." Now, truer words were never spoken, but it was hilarious to hear Granger's line popping so effortlessly out of Potty's throat.

And the Weasel: "Hermione, that was so cool!" Neville also offered his congratulations, "Bastard's been needing that for ages."

Hermione took a deep breath, thanking everyone with that genuine smile fo hers, before saying, "Thanks, I really do feel better now."

At which point Draco Malfoy turned around and, cupping his hands around his mouth so she'd catch the exact wording, catcalled viciously, "Violence is Never The Answer!"

Draco Malfoy gave Granger one last smirk and then sauntered away, looking for all the world like the cat who just stole the cream, nevermind the huge palmprint on his head. Because, in that moment he'd turned around, he'd seen Granger look more relaxed than he's seen her this entire year.

It had worked!

[a/n: next chapter will feature Suspicious Harry. Because of course it will. Harry hates people keeping secrets and not letting him in on them.

Leave a review?

Yes, in the teaser, when Draco says love isn't supposed to hurt this much, you can take that as a reference to this scene if you'd like.

Most people don't actively work to get their loves to smack them upside the head (well, for real, anyway).]


	81. Dogs Watching Tennis

Redfaced, Harry Potter had been watching the interaction between Hermione and Malfoy; moments ago, he'd congratulated her on a richly deserved slap.

But, right now, Harry Potter most resembled a baffled dog watching tennis - as his entire face flicked from Malfoy's disappearing back to Hermione's tight-lipped face. And his head did so again, and again.

Finally, Harry opened his mouth, his brow furrowed, as he confoundedly asked Hermione, "If _you_ slapped _him_ , why does Malfoy look like he thinks won?"

Hermione barely restrained herself from burying her head in her hands. She also restrained herself from laughing at her friend's confusion, as it really was hilarious to watch. Finally, her stomach stopped quaking enough for her to actually say something, "Oh, _that_. An argument we were having in the library." Hermione sniffed, "About a _month_ ago."

"Since when have you been talking to Draco Malfoy?" Ron Weasley said, and Harry said, nearly tripping over ron's words: "How long have you been having civil conversations with him?"

Hermione shrugged, saying, "It's only happened a few times - this year mostly."

The boys were looking at her with - well, Ron looked dumbfounded, as if this was so far off what he'd ever expected to exist that his entire world had flipped over. Harry looked startled, but also a good deal concerned. "Be careful around Malfoy, Hermione." He said in a low tone, "I don't trust him to mean you no harm."

"I know that!" Hermione snapped, "But he's hardly going to hex me in the middle of the library, now is he?"

Ron and Harry wore small grins at the thought, Ron responding with, "Yeah, Madame Pince would have his head!"

"Mine too, for that matter." Hermione said.

They started walking back to the castle, and Hermione Granger had let her guard down, by the time Harry spoke up again. "Violence is never the answer. Malfoy said that?"

"No, he was arguing the opposite, actually." Hermione said, "Telling me that I'd need to bang some sense into those house elves heads before they'd listen to me."

Harry Potter said nothing more, walking the whole way back to the castle with his brow creased, thinking in eccentric circles.

[a/n: flipped the last two chapters, and added a bit more ... "draco is thinking". What do you think? Leave a review!

End of Friday.]


	82. Turn a page

Turn a page, turn a leaf,

Let the world anew surprise you.

Find a tale, trace a legend,

Let the world unwind around you.

Be my guest, find a quest,

Let the winds unfurl atop you.

Draco had found Luna, days later, but he was still as excited as a schoolboy with a new krup. His enthusiasm was so infectious, that Luna was busy working through Arithmancy algorithms while he was showing her a dramatic reenactment of what had happened last week. At nearly the end, Draco paused, and said, "You aren't really listening, are you?"

"Not completely, no," Luna admitted affably, "You really just want a sounding board, and I can do that while doing several other things."

Draco felt the annoyance drain out of himself.

"Besides, you really did solve the problem. You deserve to celebrate." Luna whistled, and her sylphs rushed in, tossling and tousling Draco's hair as they celebrated with both of them.

At the end, Luna and Draco shared a soft smile - the sort that nobody ever saw on Malfoy's face.

[a/n: Luna everyone. You've all had that friend, way too excited about something.]


	83. Crimson in the Midnight Blue

I look out into the clear night sky,

And all I can think of is you.

You flash just like a firefly.

Out in the midnight blue.

In this dun world, you gleam.

Like a particularly fanciful dream.

How is it possible that you are so gay?

You make me wonder why I've not faded away...

Your bright smile lights my life.

Even as you run towards strife.

Some people are crusaders born.

Others must stand with heads unshorn.

 _That last was a subtle reference towards the Crusades,_ Draco Malfoy thought, as he folded up the missive. Hermione Granger often seemed a world away - not just in distance, but in outlook and disposition. Draco Malfoy was inclined towards dark moods and shadowy thoughts that drifted around him. Hermione Granger often seemed - to just sparkle, like her logic - bright and clear and full of... justice. Justice wasn't a concept Draco Malfoy was familiar with - it was an odd fit for Slytherin, where rules were bent and occasionally, carefully broken. Draco thought he lived in a world filled with all the shades of grey that Hermione Granger never really seemed to see. Neither did her best friends, to be fair.

[a/n: Tuesday. Leave a review.]


	84. Awake with a Cry

Blaise sat up, his ears perking at the unusual sound in the dark of his bedchamber. Hogwarts, he belatedly remembered.

In the deep darkness of the night, someone was sobbing - the sound painfully clear over the basso rumble of Goyle's snores.

Blaise turned his head slightly, focusing on the sound. That was Draco's bed, wasn't it? He nodded absently, chiding himself - Theo'd have warded his bed against noise, his dreams were often unquiet things full of black and blood. And Crabbe slept so well it was a trial to wake him in the morning.

Blaise pulled his curtains soundlessly aside, and then stepped onto the stone floor with a deliberate thump, walking as noisily as one can across the floor towards Draco's bed. "Bad dream?" He asked quietly, standing beside Draco's curtain.

Draco Malfoy pulled back the curtain, his face pale enough that it might have been blue, and his eyes seemed like dark grey tunnels, as he looked at his friend. He slowly shook his head, negating. Blaise's own breath caught at that admission. Something had to be _truly_ wrong, _utterly_ wrong, for Draco to be sobbing...

"Anything you can share?" Blaise asked carefully, quietly.

"Nothing you'd believe," Draco Malfoy said, turning away, and only belatedly remembering to pull the curtain shut in dismissal.

With an uneasy shrug, Blaise returned to his bed, spending the rest of the night staring up at the cloth-shrouded ceiling.

 _What was so unbelievably awful?_

[a/n: Bittersweet dreams - the kind you wake wanting to fall back into. This may seem like they're just roommates, but they're both exhibiting trust toward each other, in a rather Slytherin sort of way.]


	85. Sunlight

Sunlight ripples on the water,

As I dream of you,

Bright maid astride a wild horse,

Bareback, guiding with knees alone.

Not a harness, simply friendship extended-

My thoughts again circle back to you -

bind me to you, deeper than friendship.

Maddeningly bright, unbreakable bonds.

Breaker of bonds, Shatterer of shackles,

These are ones you shall not break.

Just pure unfiltered thought, Draco Malfoy saw spilled on the page in ink. And yet, it was truth - and that was an exceedingly rare commodity. Rarer so for a Slytherin to indulge in it - Slytherin truths were nearly always painful. It was why people expected lies out of Slytherins - the truths hurt too much to utter. Try telling that to impulsive Gryffindors, who couldn't understand the idea of sculpting a lie - not for your own benefit, but for simple peace. Truths said aloud, uttered boldly, were an invitation to all-out war.

[a/n: A glimpse of sunlight through the gathering clouds. Leave a review!]


	86. The Hangman's Noose

Had Draco Malfoy not been so observant, he wouldn't have noticed anything was wrong.

Unfortunately, he'd been trained from a young age to learn, to see, to find information.

So, Draco Malfoy felt the rope fall around his neck, as a young girl, Pansy Parkinson, squealed far down the table from him. "I'm going to be engaged!" she shrieked, and the sound felt like a thunderclap. "At Christmas!" she said, and Draco's eyes turned malevolent, the dark grey of onrushing stormclouds.

Blaise wasn't even there, the _coward_.

Good.

Draco Malfoy wanted him where there weren't so many eyes.

There _would_ be a reckoning for this. Rage boiled through him like magma, hot and warm and sustaining. He could almost taste the blood he would spill.

[a/n: Nobody's told Pansy who's she's going to be engaged to. But Draco knows. Leave a review? Up next: Slytherin Common Room, if only briefly.]


	87. Slytherin House

Draco Malfoy spent the morning wrapped in so many layers of _I don't give a fuck_ that even Theo, who never noticed anything, had figured out that something was wrong in Charms. He knew enough not to question, though, and that was fine by Draco.

Lunch was a free period for Draco, and he made a beeline for the Slytherin Common Room. Blaise was in there, laughing with Daphne and making a face at Goyle, who was acting goofy as usual when none of the other houses were looking. Draco Malfoy had his wand in his hand in a second, and he stalked across the room. He knew the look on his own face - it was one that he'd seen often on Potter's - malice and justice harnessed together, the twin black and white horses of The Chariot, card of motion and change.

"Blaise." Draco Malfoy growled.

Blaise turned around, looking lighthearted for just a split second, and then he incanted, "Stupefy," hitting Draco Malfoy square in the chest with it, as the older Slytherin students watched.

"Nothing to see here, folks," Blaise said lightly, "Just an internal underclassmen matter, that we'll settle privately. Greg, help me take him to our room." Blaise acted as if it was not concerning him that the older Slytherins were watching, though in truth it did.

Greg affably helped, knowing without being told that it was a good idea to not let Draco Malfoy go brawling in a crowded Common room.

Inside their shared room, Blaise said simply, "It would probably be better if you left before he wakes up." Greg shrugged, and said simply, "Your funeral."

[a/n: Draco _knows_ better than to start fighting in open corridors with another Slytherin. But he's still a hothead. This was something better settled privately, which he'll figure out when he calms down. If he calms down.

Leave a review!]


	88. Fists of Rage

"Finite Incantem." Zambini said, situated back far enough that he'd be able to ground himself before Malfoy got moving.

Malfoy woke with a roar, his body flinging itself to his feet and sending him into a leaping run at Blaise. Blaise, of course, was ready - not with words, but with planted feet.

Malfoy's well struck blow to the jaw still knocked Blaise into the air, but at least he was able to land on his feet. "That one was your free shot." Blaise growled, "You won't get another."

Malfoy wasn't in the mood to listen, his fury exceeding his mental capacity and striking out into the physical world. Blaise, true to his word, deflected, dodged and, when Malfoy tried to land a particularly punishing right hook, Blaise kicked him in the knee.

Malfoy wasn't stopped by this - his face was howling, but his fists were still coming, fast as flurries. Blaise bided his time, using his forearms to block, and precisely timed a good slug in Malfoy's aristocratic nose.

They both heard the break, but Malfoy wasn't done, his entire bodyweight bearing Blaise's bigger body to the floor. They scuffled there until Blaise finally managed to pin Malfoy, both of them bleeding from multiple blows, mostly on their faces.

"Why?" Draco Malfoy spat, "Why Pansy?"

"Because you can't keep this up forever." Blaise said, "And Pansy will make sure you don't have a choice."

Draco Malfoy tried to roll Blaise off of him with a roar, and instead struggled in a rather undignified way for the better part of ten minutes, before the fight clear left him. With a sigh, he let his arms flop onto the floor, "I know you're right," Draco muttered quietly, as close to an apology as he was ever likely to give, "But I don't have to like it."

[a/n: Draco's not exactly the most clear-headed of the Slytherin bunch. Leave a review? It's still Wednesday, so get your betting books out:

Are they going to the Infirmary?

Are they going to Snape?

Are they going to Potion's class bloodied and bleeding,and likely to cause an unnatural explosion?

Leave a review!]


	89. A Long Look

Later, Blaise and Draco headed to Potions class. They were still a sight to see (Pansy had shrieked, and Daphne had covered her eyes). But everyone knew why they weren't going to the Infirmary. That would mean admitting that they'd been fighting.

They were supposed to simply glamour the wounds and let them heal on their own (or heal them themselves). And people wondered why Marcus Flint looked like such an ogre! Mean bastard never _could_ get a healing spell to work right.

Besides, it wasn't as if they were going to be seen by the whole school. Daph was a fine healer, and Draco could always give her a new quill in appreciation. You know the sort, made with his own father's peacock feathers. Memorabilia, in other words. The high regard of House Slytherin was worth quite a bit, if you knew how to turn it your way.

They had timed it so that Granger and Potter were already there. Granger looked up first, of course (Potter was busy laying out ingredients for all of them, and thus was still trying to count to four*)

Granger gave them a long look, and then said firmly, "No blood in this potion, or you'll have to answer to the Professor." Looking at Malfoy, she asked, "Were you thinking of trying three chicory roots instead of two?"

Draco spoke up then, saying "Two of course, but with three stirs counterclockwise and a pinch of moonstone."

"Expensive, that." Granger said, turning back, "I'm not about to try a drop of dragon's blood, though that would certainly work. Kneazle whiskers, two apiece."

Harry Potter had by this point stopped counting, and had looked up, his face going pale at the garish blood-flaked faces of both Slytherins. Malfoy found it easy to read the hamster wheels in Potter's head - _It was not entirely unexpected to see Malfoy beaten, but Zambini? He went out of his way to hide in the background._ Harry's bright eyes then found Hermione, seeming shocked that she hadn't made more of a deal about the thrashed boys.

Harry's mouth fell open then, and his bulging eyes were topped by a crooked eyebrow of consternation. "Do you guys want to go to the infirmary?" He asked, and Malfoy knew it wasn't out of real concern, but out of a subtle need to show concern because people were hurt. Even if Potter was generally in the habit of not thinking of Slytherins as people. Draco Malfoy paused at that thought, and considered _I'd better encourage him along that way, then..._

Both Draco and Blaise had turned to Harry, and were watching him like he had a second head. Because if they'd wanted to go, they would have just went. "Erm, sorry, nevermind." Potter said quickly.

"We have work to do," Blaise said, and managed to sound kinder while saying it than Draco had _ever_ sounded in his life.

*counting to four, four times, is more difficult than you think - particularly when the measures don't tell you automatically that you're at four. Malfoy, however, means it as an insult.

[a/n: Well? I'm off to write another potions lesson (for Read the Last Page First). It will be... different.

Hermione, who is normally known to mother injured students, figured she'd just save herself the abuse.]


	90. Fit the page

_Dearest Sal,_

 _If I ever tried to draw you, it wouldn't work_

 _You'd come bursting off the page, frazzled and free._

 _You don't fit into a world with ink and quill._

 _You're larger than a page can possibly fill._

 _I'm no good for drawing either,_

 _Who I am isn't who you see._

 _My feelings fade into the margins,_

 _into the bindings of the book._

 _Neither of us quite fit the page proper._

Draco Malfoy was still incensed, and it was an odd thing to be so outraged at his good friend Blaise.

He wanted out, didn't want to be in Slytherin's gloomy dungeons - maybe find a place by the lake.

Draco was halfway out the front hall, before he felt the wisp of air. Turning, he followed it, not caring that he might look rather daft. After all, few would dare to question him.

"Luna!" he cried as he caught sight of her, stepping within the privacy charm.

"Draco." she responded calmly but gladly. "Has something happened?"

"I'm - " Draco looked at her with big gray eyes open wide, gathering what he'd say, "I'm going to be betrothed."

"Isn't that a natural thing for a Malfoy?" Luna said, "Do you want congratulations?"

"No!" Draco fumed, throwing up his hands. "I didn't - don't want to be engaged!"

Luna simply looked at him, her hands busy weaving a new necklace out of thestral hair (again) - which, invisible, made it seem like she was merely weaving her fingers together.

"At least, not to Pansy Parkinson." Draco said, stomping his feet in ire.

"Oh, well, that explains it." Luna said, "The nargles had started pouring out of your ears."

Draco sent her a look, and said, "I... I'm going to have to stop writing to Granger."

Luna nodded, looking sad. "Pansy would find out, wouldn't she?"

"Yes, that's why Blaise chose her!" Draco said, fuming.

Luna pursed her lips in thought, and then asked, "Aren't your parents supposed to choose? How did Blaise convince them?"

Draco's own brow furrowed, as he looked down. Suddenly, his grey eyes flashed like lightning, as his eyes lept to Luna's watery blues. "Snape!" Draco Malfoy growled.

"You know he wouldn't do something that he thought was bad for you." Luna said soothingly.

"He doesn't know me! He doesn't care what I want!" Draco said, and Luna considered that he sounded a great deal like Harry Potter - a fact that both would resent if she pointed it out.

"You could reason with him then? Give him new information?!" Luna asked, as Draco stood and started heading for the edge of the privacy spell.

Still walking, Draco turned around to Luna, and said, "I'll give him a piece of my mind alright!"

[a/n: Earth to Draco. This is a bad idea. You really ... too angry to listen. Fine.

Leave a review! Tis thursday, and Draco is still upset, naturally.]


	91. Troublesome Boy

Draco Malfoy stormed through the halls of Hogwarts, descending into the dungeons.

Most people would mean that figuratively, of course. Draco was too mad to even notice the winds that followed him, whipping papers out of students' hands.

All his black bile was focused on his godfather, Severus Snape.

As he plunged down the stairs like a thunderbolt, Slytherins stepped precisely out of his way. Everyone was aware of Malfoy's temper, and wanted to be well away from him when he exploded. He was marginally satisfied at their respect.

Draco approached Severus Snape's office door, raising his hand to knock - when the door blew itself open.

Astonished, Severus Snape looked up from marking some homework papers. His gaze darkened as he beheld his godson, "Draco, is there some reason you felt compelled to blow open my door, rather than civilly knocking and awaiting admittance?"

Snape said this, mind, to a Malfoy who was gape-mouthed and simply staring. Draco pulled himself together enough to say, stiffly, "It wasn't me, sir."

"Oh, is there someone else around, then? Under an invisibility cloak, perhaps?" Snape snapped.

"No, sir, sorry sir. It's my fault, sir." Draco Malfoy rapped out, as he entered, closing the door and throwing up the best privacy charm he knew. It wasn't much, he knew that at least, but it was what he had.

"State your business," Snape said, "I've wasted enough time waiting for you to remember how to _enter a room_."

Draco Malfoy winced internally, knowing that Snape was remarkably ill-tempered when he was in a mood, and - he was in a **mood**. "You persuaded my parents to betroth me to Pansy Parkinson."

Snape merely looked at him levelly for a long moment, and said sharply, "Are you not pleased?"

"No, I am not," Draco Malfoy looked at his godfather, for a moment - Snape had a way of making even the hottest anger turn to ice in your veins. "Why did it have to be Pansy, sir?" _She'll ruin everything!_

Snape raised an eyebrow at his godson, "Because I'm hardly going to keep an eye on you forever."

"I'm not marrying Pansy." Draco Malfoy said firmly, his hands fisted at his sides, and his eyes glaring hate.

"Of course not," Snape said, "But I have indulged you quite enough this year, and you _will_ learn to control yourself in the future."

Draco tried to keep his face calm, but he knew his eyes widened slightly at this. _Snape knew? He knew and he'd ..._ It went against everything Draco thought he knew about the man.

"Yes sir." Draco Malfoy ground out.

"You will find there are other educational opportunities in your future." Snape said, "You are dismissed."

... Other... Educational... Opportunities?

[a/n: Snape has always known about this. He's cooperated just about as much as he's going to.

... guess who's going to study Occulumency? Mmm-hmm.

Leave a review - were you _really_ expecting Draco to go off on Snape like Harry Potter would?]


	92. As the world turns on

_I can sigh, I can dream -_

 _But the world turns on_

 _I can rage, I can scream -_

 _But the world turns on_

 _I could even try to dance,_

 _But the world turns on_

 _Maybe I've lost my chance,_

 _As the world turns on._

Draco Malfoy looked at the letter, sighed, and tied it onto an ordinary school owl. No, it was slightly less than ordinary, a little smaller, a little more ragged. It fit his mood today, which was black, and shone like a mirror - obsidian, just like his godfather's eyes. His godfather, who had had the gall to actually make time for his godson, even if it was only a brief window to happiness he'd never get to touch.

[a/n: Frodo is not the hero of LOTR, Samwise is. Likewise, you're going to see more of Blaise Zambini soon.

Leave a review!]


	93. What's the Catch?

Hermione Granger had been both eating and reading, and - as often happened when her friends failed to rouse her, she was one of the last people in the Great Hall.

"May I?" a dark voice rolled over the Gryffindor table like onrushing night.

Hermione looked up, luckily just a shred short of squeaking or jumping. It was Blaise Zambini, tall, dark and handsome - and with the whitest teeth she'd ever seen. "If you dare," Hermione smirked, enjoying the wordplay.

"No one's looking," Zambini said, smirking right back.

"Got a question about hydromel?" Hermione looked up and said.

 _Always so straightforward._ "You've been receiving letters this year... rather a lot of letters," Blaise began.

"Oh, you're here about the bet." Hermione said, straightening her spine and giving him a no-nonsense look straight off McGonagall's face. "Fraid I can't help you. I haven't the slightest idea."

"But you'd like to know..." Blaise said slowly.

Hermione's eyes gleamed, as she looked at him steadily, for a long moment that seemed to span a chasm of time. "Yeah. I would."

"I might could see my way to telling you what I can..." Blaise said, the tentativeness of the words entirely belied by the smooth, nearly unctuous tone of his voice.

"What's the catch?" Hermione asked.

"You'll owe me a favor." Blaise said.

"Y-" Hermione said, and Blaise cut over her, "Think about it. I'll take your answer on Tuesday."

 _The die is cast._

[a/n: Malfoy's forgotten the old trope: Everyone's the hero in his own story.

You are invited to speculate (particularly in review form) as to what Blaise's agenda is.]


	94. Peel back the rind

_When you peel back the rind,_

 _What else will you find?_

 _Is there anything left behind?_

 _I'm all empty inside._

 _I walk a lonely road_

 _It's the only one I've ever known._

 _I do not know where it goes._

 _I'm only made of flesh and bone._

 _Perhaps when the sun goes down,_

 _I will remember not to drown._

 _Perhaps when the starlit sky is set,_

 _I will remember you and not forget._

Hermione was about jumping out of her skin. She'd been that way since an hour after the conversation with the dark-skinned Slytherin. She already knew her answer, and she didn't want to have to wait. She'd been over the answer five times, and her curiosity was driving her mad. She wanted to jump over and strangle him, for not telling her Now! True, she probably should have gone through her logic again, but, truth was, she was letting her curiosity guide her. She didn't think that Blaise would come up with anything too horendous as a favor, and if it was completely infeasible, she could always get one of the teachers (or an Auror) to help her abrogate the deal.

But her curiosity wasn't the problem. it just made the problem appear. The problem was Harry Potter - and his curiousity. He wanted to know what was going on, and didn't seem likely to take "no" for an answer. With his personality, he was prone to simply popping up at random times (while she was reading) and asking if she was going to tell him _now_.

All in all, it was very distracting.

Ron had simply shrugged and told Harry to ignore whatever was bothering Hermione, and that if it was a real problem, they'd deal with it when someone was bleeding. Hermione grinned at that one - it was classic MollyLogic, borne of having the twins, Charlie and the rest of the clan in one house. If it wasn't bleeding, it probably wasn't serious.

Hermione had actually stopped to look outside, when she realized on Sunday that Harry'd not actually harassed her for a full hour and a half. Outside, she saw him with a big black dog, jumping around near Hagrid's hut. She smiled softly, amused that even the ever persistent Harry Potter could be distracted by Fang.

[a/n: Yes, she's nearly to the point of strangling Blaise. Unintended consequences and all that.

Leave a review?

This is Monday, but it's really eating the weekend.]


	95. And now my favor

_You are flame and fire_

 _That light my desire_

 _You are wind and water_

 _A storm and a bother,_

 _But I can't stop looking for you_

 _I am like glass and just as blue._

 _But to you I can't help but be true._

 _I can't keep my eyes off you._

Hermione had the note in her hand - she almost wanted to crunch it into a ball, though she refrained, because, after all it was still a clue, even if it was a lie. Maybe it was just a metaphor? But, Hermione'd looked, tried to see who it was - this boy staring at her. Wouldn't it be creepy if someone really was staring at her?

Blaise rose and walked with her to the library, or almost, at any rate. He beckoned her into an abandoned classroom, and then motioned for her to zip it.

Quietly, he spun webs of silence around them, the magic sparkling...

"How did you?" Hermione asked, staring at wonder at the spells.

"My mother's spells," Blaise said, smiling bitterly, "You didn't think they call her the Black Widow for nothing, did you?"

"They're so beautiful..." Hermione said, stretching her hand out.

"Ah-ah, touch them and you'll bleed." Blaise said.

"Wow, was it... so secret?" Hermione said.

Blaise nodded somberly, "I'll have your answer now," he said crisply, as if collecting himself again.

"Yes. I will do you a favor, in return for you telling me who the writer of these letters is." Hermione said, gesturing with one of them towards Blaise.

"I said I'd tell you what I can," Blaise said, mildly reprovingly.

Hermione nodded, with a suspicious look, on the verge of wringing his neck until he spoke.

"The writer of those letters is in Slytherin House." Blaise said.

"And that's all you can tell me?" Hermione spit back, frustrated, her hands in fists. "Is this some sort of Slytherin Thing? Presenting a united front?"

"If it was that, silly child, I wouldn't be here," Blaise said, his white teeth gleaming out of his bright smile. "However, I will tell you why I can't tell you anything more... for another favor."

Hermione stomped her foot, saying irritabily, "I haven't even heard what the first favor is!"

"As to that, you really should learn to set clauses on favors. I could have asked for your firstborn son, you know." Blaise said.

"You could _have_ him!" Hermione shot back, to which Blaise raised his eyebrows.

"You'd really barter so much...?" Blaise said.

"Listen, if you were really going to ask me to do something shady, I'd simply tell a teacher!" Hermione said.

"If you ever deal with a Slytherin again, for Merlin's sake, limit the favor." Blaise said, "Just simple advice, kindly meant, even."

"As for my favor," Blaise said, "There's a Yule Dance coming up."

Hermione frowned, her lips parting to ask if he meant to ask her out as his favor...

"You'll dance with every Slytherin that asks," Blaise said, his teeth gleaming.

Hermione glared at him, unsure whether she was upset, or what she was really upset about, before snapping back, "So be it."

"Relax, I'll make certain that they don't hurt you. Besides, it would reflect badly on our house."

"I'll think about your offer," Hermione said grimly, before stalking off. Behind her, Blaise laughed.

[a/n: Blaise is having fun. Hermione is frustrated. Leave a review, and if you guess what Blaise is going to do next, well, good for you!

(I do hope you can see what Blaise would say, on a "here's why I can't tell you more.")

Blaise is a Slytherin. Draco's Identity is a Valuable Bargaining Chip. Not to be simply squandered for No Good Reason.]


	96. Welcome to the shadowlands

_Welcome to the Shadowlands_

 _Where the leaves rustle at the feet of the trees,_

 _And the river has fled to the high vales._

 _A land of grays, and shadows._

 _Of brown cracked earth, and khaki leaves of grass._

 _You stand there, a blade unsheathed,_

 _Bright and shining in the twilight._

 _Beneath your feet pools color bright_

 _Heartsblood as it flows deep beneath_

 _All your secrets this land will keep._

 _Walk wary else it keep you too._

 _In the land of shadows dwells nothing true._

Draco Malfoy was sulking. He was in his bed, the curtains down, and he was sulking.

Blaise knew this well, as he'd seen the boy sulk about Potter's Seeker position, and sulk about Granger's grades and even about Weasley's family (though he didn't outwardly complain about that last one.)

A well-done sulk did not end, not quickly at least. Blaise was content to let Draco sulk for the rest of the day, if he desired. He'd recover, it's not like sulking was a fatal disease.

All the news in the world could wait until after Draco Malfoy stopped pouting.

[a/n: Reviews welcome! This is Wednesday, Potions Day!]


	97. Moping

By Potions class, Blaise had yet to learn that Draco Malfoy, sulking and moping, would actually have studied _more_ for Potions class. In retrospect, though, he wasn't surprised. Hermione Granger spared some of her glares - that she normally focused on Malfoy, for Blaise - undoubtedly furious that she'd ... given up ... something, at least, for not much of anything in return.

Or maybe she just wanted to corner him and convince him to tell her why he couldn't tell her more.

Potter had his ears up and his eyes open, and he looked more interested in the personal byplays than with anything Potions related, for which Blaise couldn't blame him.

Who wanted to learn about unicorn hooves and cat whiskers when you could be seeing which Slytherin Hermione Granger was going to flay. Possibly verbally flay, possibly not.

As it was, Blaise was rather glad that Snape was just a door away - as if he did manage to draw Granger's ire, he at least wanted her to get punished.

At least Granger wasn't like the rest of the girls, who had instantly gone "dress crazy" if not "boy crazy."

Half the school seemed to want him to ask them out. Which would be fine, if they weren't falling over each other to do it.

Potions was practically the only peace he got these days, because even in Charms there were girls, and they would fight to be his partner, to be near him, to make eyes at him - and that last meant girls "stealthfully" elbowing each other.

It was stifling, was what it was.

Blaise pitied Malfoy, who had it twice as bad. Something about his "couldn't care less" ice persona. Blaise at least remembered you smiled at girls, no matter if you liked them or not. That was manners, something Malfoy couldn't have been bothered to actually practice (And oh, how Blaise had wanted to say something of the sort the last hundred times Malfoy complained about Ron Weasel).

[a/n: Okay, so Blaise got to vent. I had to force myself not to have Hermione spill the beans here. "I don't need a date, I'm going to be dancing with Malfoy." Cue Potter, Malfoy _and_ Snape falling off their chairs. Sadly, Hermione's not much on "yanking people's chain for no reason", and she's got little reason to think that Malfoy actually would dance with her. (erm. that's not to say that odds are, if Malfoy wasn't in love with her, he wouldn't dance with her. He would, if only to insult her dancing ability, and burnish his own by contrast).

Reviews please!]


	98. Quit living on dreams

There will come a day when I set dreams aside

Even the dreams that let me smile -

the dreams that take me away

My dreams of you.

When I turn and take the hardbitten road.

They say Not the Destination, but the Journey -

will you shed a tear for me?

My journey will be hard, I do not have a cloak

to shield me from the ice wind on the head.

Somewhere my feet will lead me,

Somewhere my blood will bleed me.

And somehow, I hope I'll see through to the end.

Halycon days may once come again.

If only I grit my teeth, and walk where I should wend.

[Thursday!]


	99. Slytherin

Blaise Zambini was in his bed, a bit after dinner. Draco Malfoy was in the Pride of Place bed, on the corner farthest from the door, sulking. "Draco," Blaise said.

No response.

"Dra-key!" Blaise tried next.

If possible, less response.

"Dra-coDra-coDra-co" Blaise said, in a continuous syllabic refrain.

"What?" Draco Malfoy said, his head popping out from behind the curtains. His gaze presaged doom or somesuch. Blaise had never liked divination.

"I got you a dance with Granger." Blaise said, a slight smile playing on the edge of his lips.

Draco froze, torn between punching Blaise, laughing at him for being a fool, or just returning to sulking. Problem was, sulking wasn't much fun.

And, a foreign thought floated through his head, "What if Blaise had _actually_ done it?"

It was that thought that had Draco springing out of his own bed and sliding into Blaise's, tugging down the curtain and spitting out Muffiliato without pause for thought. (It wasn't a good silencing spell, but no one except his Godfather knew it, so it was fiendishly difficult to cancel).

"Details." Draco Malfoy demanded.

Blaise took a bit of a breath, as if unsure, and then started, "Granger owed me a favor, and I cashed it in."

"For a date with me?" Draco asked, "I don't believe you."

"No, for Yule in general. A dance with any Slytherin that'll dance with her - and protection from violence, of course." Neither of them wanted to admit to the very real possibility that someone other than Pansy Parkinson (who was merely a vengeful bitch) might bring Politics into a Hogwarts Dance.*

"How the hell did you manage that?" Draco asked, his normal "above it all" attitude completely shredded and replaced with awe.

"For that favor, I told her I'd tell her what I could about that nob of a secret admirer." Blaise said.

"You did not," Draco insisted, his eyes wide.

"I totally did." Blaise smiled widely, "Of course she was going to agree..."

Draco Malfoy moved, swiftly, and Blaise found himself in a chokehold, his head bumped tight against the wall. "What. Did. You. Tell. Her?"

Blaise, not to be put off by near murder, grinned, and said, "That you were a Slytherin. Is that enough plausible deniability for you?"

Draco forced himself to relax, and then grinned at his friend, "Bet she was wroth about that answer."

"Yeah, she wanted to know if this was Some Slytherin Thing." And they both laughed, knowing that most Slytherins would sell out their mothers if they could.

[a/n: I like the boys! they're fun! Leave a review? What do you suppose is coming next?]

*It's one thing to have the bitch be mean, it's another to be racist bullies In Public.


	100. Remember

_I worry, sometimes, that I'm going to look in your eyes_

 _And see nothing but fire, to my eternal surprise.**_

 _Justice leaves nothing but ash behind, if mercy it leaves behind_

 _Searing and purging and devouring - for justice is blind._

 _Remember, oh! Remember, no matter how deep you go -_

 _Three puppies in the sunshine, gamboling on the lawn_

 _Clear moonlight sparkling on newly fallen snow,_

 _The sound of thunder, after the lightning's gone._

 _Lay roots beneath your feet, strong and deep._

 _So the fires of justice will not take you cheap._

[a/n: Leave a review if you like. ]

**Um. People. Read that again. If you don't get it, read it until you do. (If you truly don't understand, write me a review or PM and I'll explain privately).


	101. Slipping through our fingers

Draco Malfoy had been going through the entire day in a bit of a fogged daze. Oh, he wasn't sulking - more dreaming. Of all the things Blaise had ever pulled out of his arse, a dance with Hermione Granger seemed the unlikeliest. Of course, this was why he was friends with the darkest Italian - he was useful. Draco didn't delude himself into thinking Blaise would say any different about him. Oh, sure, everyone had feelings - but if push came to shove, you would, you could kill your friends. You'd talk them out of resistance, you'd find a way to make peace if possible.

But when push came to shove, people died.

It was a large part of why Slytherin House decided its arguments behind closed doors. Not because of the appearance of disunity, but because - by forcing it to be in the Common Room, or in the Dormitories, leveler heads could intervene. He'd almost taken Blaise's block off, and knew that they'd both been seconds from being hauled in front of a prefect. It had only been Blaise's quick thinking - and heart-deep understanding that Draco Malfoy _was_ upset, but was _not_ going to take things too far. Nobody'd lost an eye, after all.

Still lost in thought, his unbidden feet meandered toward the Owlry, even though his hands held no letter. Until he felt a ghostly tendril wrap around his leg and give a tug. Turning, he headed towards Luna Lovegood, wherever that was.

"Freedom's slipping through our fingers, Malfoy. Time to get your head out of the clouds."

"What pieces do we have? What can we count on?"

"Gryffindors will continue to charge blindly in where angels fear to tread."

"Fortune favor the fools - what else?"

"The Death Eaters will want to spread fear and destruction."

"And the Order of the Phoenix will try to stop them." Draco Malfoy said, eyes gleaming at the pearl of information Luna had dropped like so much dross.

"Unless we flip the script." Luna said, smiling dreamily. Draco Malfoy's smile, when it came, was sharp as a stiletto.

[a/n: Awareness of what's coming is a powerful, powerful tool. They will not waste it. Leave a review!]


	102. Knock down world

_Hey, in this knock down dreary, clanking world,_

 _How do you manage to shine so bright?_

 _With the grit and the grime, the castoff leavings that we all shed,_

 _How do you shake them off, burst forth unscathed?_

 _I wish I could be as brave as you-_

 _Though I couldn't tell you what I'd do._

 _Instead, I'll walk the valley of fear,_

 _Looking for you in the sky so clear._

 _Dive faster than curses, Fly over my head,_

 _You'd better be quick, or you'll be dead._


	103. Tell me why

Hermione found Blaise Zambini in the library. He was trying to find a good book to teach him History of Magic. She bumped into him, deliberately, and said, quietly, "follow me, but not too closely."

Zambini, impressed with her display of ungryffindorish subtlety, simply nodded to the books he was looking at, and followed her quietly out, leaving a half corridor between them. She passed into a few more dusty hallways (he'd have to clean his robes), and finally stepped into an unused classroom. Except, when he stepped in, he saw that it was actually pristine.

He pulled his wand out, and began to cast "Finite-"

Hermione Granger stopped him with her hand on his arm, "Now, now, what way is that to treat a good rendesvous point?" Her smile was proud.

"What?" Zambini said, coming back to himself enough to realize that this was deliberate magic. He flushed (his face not changing color in the slightest), and said, "Oh, sorry. I thought it was a trap."

"Just one of the Weasley's old Potion labs." Hermione Granger said lightly.

"Oh, I'd wondered how they managed to make so many different objects."

"This one's spelled for silence and privacy. Snape was far more likely to object than most teachers." Hermione said

"Yeah, Flitwick's version of flipping out would involve much excitement and demands that the Devil Twins show him how they did That, and That oh and of course That!" Zambini said.

"Anyway, to business. Why _can't_ you tell me anything more about the author of these missives?" Hermione asked. Her frustration was so visible it was a wonder that she wasn't vibrating with anxiety.

"Uh-uh-uh." Blaise said, "You know what comes first. The conditions for the favor."

"I get to set them, right?" Hermione said, "Nothing immoral or amoral. Nothing that breaks the law without a damned good reason."

"Can I get you to amend that? would you really refuse to put a color changing potion into the water? Just for a joke? That's rather amoral, wouldn't you say?" Blaise said reasonably.

"No, I wouldn't, I suppose."

"I want you to consider doing something a little immoral. Like scaring your friend Harry... You'd of course have right of refusal at the point in time, so if I managed to come up with something I thought was mildly immoral and you disagreed, you could always not do that as your favor."

Hermione chewed on her lip for a moment, before saying, "Oh, all right."

Blaise Zambini said, quietly, "I can't tell you more because the author of those letters is a Death Eater's child."

Hermione Granger just looked at Blaise, seemingly realizing he was telling the truth, and then her mind started to mull the possibilities. They weren't endless, but there were a LOT of death eater's children at hogwarts.

[a/n: reviews welcome!]


	104. I've Seen

_I've seen how they look at you,_

 _With scorn, or worse, pity-_

 _Abjuring your spirit_

 _As they bind your body._

 _There will come a day,_

 _Sooner or possibly late,_

 _When the bindings give way_

 _You will rise and be great._

 _Firechild in the hearth,_

 _Bound you may be,_

 _but not forgotten._

 _When you set yourself free,_

 _Perhaps then you'll ken_

 _My spirit as well,_

 _And even if I've ventured deep_

 _As far as fiery hell-_

 _Perhaps you'll spare a thought for me_

 _Or even burn me, break me free._

Blaise looked at his friend Draco, who was talking again about his 'friend' Dye. Whoever that was. And it was driving Blaise crazy. He'd looked up everyone in the stupid school, including teachers and groundskeepers, and not a single one of them had a name that was easily nicknamed into that. Not even letters, initials.

And that wasn't the oddest thing - though Draco was certainly getting no letters from outside sources, barring his Mum, who merely sent sweets.

The oddest thing was - who'd be friends with him?

Malfoy was the arrogant type, and though Blaise genuinely liked the boy, he'd practiced a mean air that belied his true nature. It was taken as a given in Slytherin, that that was what you did, if you didn't want to be Millicent Bulstrode, perpetually bullied for doting on her cat. But none of the other houses seemed to realize that, and Malfoy had managed to go on quite a tear as a firstie, even, trying to get some of the other students to 'toughen up.'

What a Hufflepuff saw as purposeless bullying, was far different from a Slytherin's eyes.

But Malfoy wouldn't be dangling a Slytherin friendship in front of Blaise's eyes, not like this, anyhow. He'd have whomever's favor he'd won (of course it would be an upperclassman) sitting right by them, ready to regale them with tales of cunning and woe. Well, someone else's woe, of course.

Who was this Di? Dye? D.I?

It was driving him _crazy_.

[a/n: No, this story isn't done (Not by half!). I was just trying to write a poem, and it kept on getting snarled. So I did a different one!

Harry and Ron and the Gryffindors really do want Hermione to be more than a bit constrained, if you think about it.

Also, poor blaise.

Leave a review, please!]


	105. Two roads diverge

_Two roads meet in a darkling wood._

 _I stand at the crossroads,_

 _Hermes guide my path._

 _One road braid and easy,_

 _The other full of briar and thorn._

 _The road ta hell is paved with good intentions._

 _And the other road is paved with blood._

 _Neither's the road for me._

 _I'll blaze a path with my own blood if need be._

 _Find a way through the wall of shadows,_

 _through the deep forest gloom._

 _Don't you dare follow me -_

 _Scribes might write of your valor_

 _May they never speak of me._

 _Shadows merge with the darkness_

 _As they flee from the light._

 _Still, You are the fire of my heart,_

 _My soul's endless delight._

Draco Malfoy was inside the Potions classroom, setting up ingredients when the open door disgorged the audio of a crooked scene. He paused, listening.

Crabbe and Goyle said, together, to Hermione Granger, "Hey, hey, hey!"

Draco could hear Hermione's nerves in her cross response, "Let me through, I need to get to Potions."

"Uh-uh," Crabbe said, and Goyle grunted, "Not before..."

"Before what?" Hermione said, with the lightest stomp of her foot still echoing down the dungeon corridors.*

"May I trouble milady for a dance?" Crabbe said, and by the stunned silence, Draco realized that Crabbe had executed a perfect bow. The lad did know his manners, if he rarely bothered to use them.

"And I as well?" Goyle said, his politeness nearly ruined by the sheer glee of his question.

"Of course, when the time is right. I'll be sure to pencil you in." Hermione Granger said all-in-a-rush.

Draco Malfoy could picture (but not see) his goonish friends splitting to both sides, and allowing Hermione Granger to rush in. It was a miracle, truly, that the goons could pull off polite, and had much to do with Narcissa Malfoy's nigh-infinite patience.

That wasn't the ugliness of the scene. Nor was Granger's attitude, as she entered.

Crashing her scales down onto the table with a clattering bang, she turned to Malfoy and asked, "What? Had your laughs? Not going to invite me too?"

Malfoy sneered, "If I asked you, I'd have to touch you." _Which was a fine thing to say, both truthful and deceptive in one peppermint-stick twisted package._

"Oh, Heavens, the world might end!" Hermione Granger said haughtily, and Draco Malfoy's mouth flicked up into a smirk.

No, the true ugliness was Harry Potter paying witness to this scene.

"What the BLOODY HELL is going ON!?" Harry Potter hollered.

Far be it for Granger to cower, even when she was (mildly) in the wrong. "Calm Down, Harry." she said through gritted teeth.

Be it farther for Draco to not milk it, he thought wryly. "Yes, tell the Golden Boy what you've done." Malfoy said in his usual insouciant drawl.

"I made a bet," Hermione Granger said, tossing her wayward hair behind her head, "I lost."

"Hermione! You should know better than -" Harry cut off, getting a befuddled look on his face. Had Potter not been his enemy, Malfoy would have cracked up at the sight.

Harry continued, "You didn't bet with Goyle or Crabbe-"

Hermione Granger said, "No, I didn't. The terms of the bet include a dance with every Slytherin who offers."

Harry Potter snorted, "No wonder you aren't going with Ron!"

Hermione Granger, hands bending a bamboo shoot nearly to the point of snapping, said, "No, I'm not going with Ron because he's an utter prat and an absolute shite." _Truer words were never spoken,_ Malfoy thought, enjoying the physical gymnastics of Harry's face as it fought to both agree with her and defend his friend. _I don't even need to say a word._

*stone is loud. carpet is not.

[a/n: braid == broad. That's a traditional accent there, from Thomas the Rhymer, from whence some of the imagery stems.

Leave a review? Guesses on what Draco Malfoy (erm, and Luna) is going to do next are very, very welcome!]


	106. Cut of a different cloth

_To look at us both, you'd surely see_

 _We're cut of different cloths entirely._

 _I of shadows, secrets and shade._

 _You glinting of sunfire and flashing blade._

 _Fool that I was, I might have thought_

 _To wrap you in gauze - but then you'd rot._

 _Battered and beaten, I know better now,_

 _The branch of peace is a flowering bough._

 _I dream of a time when I might meet your eyes._

 _In a realm of ruddy fools there are few that are so wise._

Hermione hated shopping, hated dresses, and hated Lavender Brown and Parvati. Luckily, Padma, who also thoroughly hated these things, was here to share her misery. They didn't even have dress robes, a matter that Lavender was nearly shrieking about. Still, the dance was in just a few days, and Lavender had enough dresses for them all. Ginny and Luna were sitting in on the chaos, even though they weren't going. Hermione knew better than to tease Ginny about Harry - she'd had enough of that her first year, and even with the shade in her head shook out, she didn't need the aggravation. Luna, however, was fair game!

"If you could go with someone, who'd it be?" Hermione asked Luna, wanting a distraction from Yet More Dresses (how Lavender had managed to pack them all, Morgana only knew).

"Cedric, actually." Luna said softly.

"For real!" Parvati said, "Why him? I would have figured you'd be pining after Zambini, or maybe Longbottom."

"He always smiles at me," Luna said, smiling gently herself. "And he looks like he wants to say something, but never gets up the courage."

Hermione took a deep breath, and said, "I've got news about the person writing my letters."

Instantly, all eyes turned towards her. "Blaise Zambini says the writer's in Slytherin."

Padma stomped her feet, "Poop. I thought he'd be a Ravenclaw, sure as I bleed blue and bronze."

Luna simply smiled, and said, "No Ravenclaw I know would wait this long..." Her eyes turned questioningly to Hermione.

Hermione twisted the fabric of the dress in her hands, before raising her eyes to Luna's blues, "He's got reason to wait... Blaise said - and this doesn't go any further than this room, that the writer is the child of a Death Eater."

Lavender laughed that truly irritating twittery laugh of hers, and said, "Gods above! If he's going to wait, he might be waiting a long while!"

Luna's smile was wintry, the raven alone in the deepest snow, "Yes, I'd imagine so."

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it again, "I've got better news than that, though. Blaise took as his payment for this information... well, he's asked me to have a dance with any Slytherin that wants to at the Yule ball."

"Has he really?" Luna Lovegood said, smirking, "How nice of him. I wonder what he gets out of it."

Hermione frowned, and thought about it some, while her roommates prattled on about how it might have been Blaise that wanted the dance. Finally, after the talking had died down, Hermione Granger said, "Trust, I think." Looking at Luna, she frowned, deeply, "He's asked me to owe him a favor - another one, and I don't know what he'll ask of me."

Luna frowned, and said, "How likely are you to actually do what he asks?"

Hermione smiled, laughed and said, "That's the strange thing. I have the uttermost certainty that I'm going to do it."

Parvati laughed, her nails clicking together as she gathered the dress around Hermione's waist, "How did he manage that one?"

"He asked me if I would mind doing something a little immoral." Hermione said, and to the frowns, "No, not that bad, he said that I needn't do it if I thought it was wrong!"

Luna Lovegood said, "And you'd do something immoral?"

Hermione nodded, "I might. Tease someone a bit unkindly, do something that wasn't Truly harmful."

Luna Lovegood nodded slightly, saying, "It's a good thing someone thinks of these things."

[a/n: Hermione was the one procrastinating about finding a dress. Because obviously.

Leave a review?

This is Thursday, dance is on Saturday. But I'm not done with Thursday yet. You haven't seen what Draco's been up to.]


	107. The owlry

Draco Malfoy had risen early on Thursday, as he had a letter to send.

What met his eyes in the Owlry was red paint. A poem, painted on the floor, with owls hooting all around it.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

 _Or does it explode?_

And that was just like Granger, wasn't it? Brutal, uncompromising, and seeing everything in Black and White. Throwing down the gauntlet.

No, perhaps he was misreading her, putting words in her mouth she had not said.

No, this was her acknowledgement... of his dream.

He wasn't sure really what she was saying - was it a challenge, a "Come Get Me!" a "Catch Me If You Can!"... or was it a quieter refrain, like someone sipping smooth scotch and getting slowly drunk, before they'd even realized they were tipsy? What in bleedin' hell had Blaise told her? Draco knew he couldn't keep writing... Had Blaise told her that too? Because if he had...

Draco read the poem, and then copied it down, deciding to leave it emblazoned there until the next person with detention got sent to clean the Owlry by Filch.

It was a poem that seemed to read his heart.

It could stay another day.

[a/n: Hermione writes back. A bit more boldly than sending an owl.

Then again, she's not sure who she's writing to.

Also, this is the second chapter today.

Reviews make me write faster!]


	108. Falling petals

_When all is said and done_

 _When the battles are lost and won,_

 _Find me where the mountains scrape the sky,_

 _Where even the roads have stairs to climb_

 _There I'll stand, with no mask or alibi._

 _Our meeting there will break the paradigm._

 _There I'll wait, come snow and rain._

 _For you I'll wait years and not in vain._

 _For this I believe, deep down in my heart._

 _Far better together, than us apart._

"One last, for olde time's sake," Draco said, letting the school owl go, addressed to "Sal" as always. Come the new year, he couldn't afford to be this distracted - Pansy had sharp eyes, and he was to be _engaged_ to her, for his house's sake!*

Hermione snatched the letter from her owl, ignoring Ron's, "Still writing is he?" and Harry's not so subtle wince. She was halfway up the stairs before she'd really thought about it - _Did he see what she'd written? Did he write back?_

 _He was talking about Peru, of all the hidden, mystical places in this world, Peru! It was an easy cipher, and yet... the words seemed to sway differently. It wasn't just Starting Anew. It was Getting Away from Everything. Perhaps fitting if he figured the war would be something he wouldn't want to remember. He'd never said that he would choose the Light side..._ Hermione frowned _. It wasn't like she'd had much choice - he might not either._

Hermione frowned as she read it again, it had the feeling of an ending. Of a door closing, of cherry blossoms falling from the tree. "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end..." Hermione hummed thoughtfully.** _If he really wasn't going to write more..._ Hermione shot up straight. _She had it! The exact right thing..._ She grabbed up her Compleat Works of William Shakespeare, and grabbed up a bookmark (one with a holographic unicorn on it), scrawling a quick message. _Really, it was the best she could say... No time for regrets now!_ She shoved the bookmark neatly into the book (bookmarking Romeo and Juliet), and frankly flew down the stairs.

Muggle Studies, she'd do Muggle Studies first. Zambini was the only Slytherin in it, and she cornered him two hallways distant. "Give the writer this," Hermione said urgently, shoving a very, very large book into Zambini's gut.

"As my lady bids," Zambini said, the irony thick in his voice, and yet his bow perfectly respectful.

*House in this case means his family.

**Closing Time, by Semisonic. It was played so much on MTV I have it memorized. Yes, it's a bit anachronistic. Deal.

[a/n: Wow, five reviews in a day! Of course you can have another chapter. The next one will deal with Draco getting the book. And, of course, what Hermione wrote. Can you guess? If not, write a review anyway!

And no, the story isn't over when the poetry stops. There'll be the ball on Saturday, and then... well, I'd call them "Endless Epilogues" like I did with my Subtle Scent of Oak and Onion, but these are really midlogues (interludes) before we get into the meat of the tale.]


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